Legatus
by Ragnarok Ascendant
Summary: Direct sequel to We Are Legion, and companion piece to Violence Is My First Language. Legion IN SPACE! Lots of weird shit out here, and very little of it is friendly.
1. Chapter 1

_Nothing is forever lost, save time. We shall return, and the stars shall tremble at our coming._

 _-King Freidand'r IV, First King of the Tamaranean Migrant Fleet_

 **Timeless**

 **Formless**

One foot in front of the other.

Keep it together.

That's all there is.

There was a Danger, that I remember. There might still be, lurking outside the tiny bubble of reality. I don't dare look.

Greta hadn't been able to keep going. I refused to leave her. Now she's clutched to my chest- when had she become so small?- as we both walk.

One foot in front of the other. Over and over.

And then, light.

Corrupted, shaky, barely holding together. But it's still blood and bone, still the Red, for all that it thrums with unknown energies.

A trap? Or salvation?

It doesn't matter.

I follow it, anyway.

It _burns_ , the corruption in it tearing at me, hate and ceaseless fury, but I huddle close around my child and move on.

I will _not_ be denied. I will not-

 **24:03 Station Time, 12th Day of 14th Lunar Cycle, Year 3,102 of Mind**

 **Psion Research Station Alpharius**

Cold metal. Screaming alarms. The smell of blood and burned flesh, my own.

Greta's safe. Unharmed.

Small lizard creature. Shouting, a lot of it.

So tired…

 **26:12 Station Time**

"⍙⏃ ⟒ ⎍⌿."

The voice is harsh. Reptilian. I try to open my eyes- only one works, and opening it feels like dragging a lead weight. I try to move, only to feel cold metal at my wrists and ankles, weighing me down, keeping me restrained, stuck spread-eagled on a rack. Not good.

The sensation of air moving across my body, and a quick look downwards, also confirms that I'm naked.

Very not good.

There's a screen across from me, a sneering reptilian face on it. It bares teeth.

"⏃⍙⏃ ⟒, ⟟ ⌇⟒⟒. ⟟ ⍙⍜⋏⎅⟒⍀- ⏃⋏ ⌇⍜⋔⟒⏁⊑⟟⋏ ⌰⟟ ⟒ ⊬⍜⎍ ⟒⎐⟒⋏ ⎍⋏⎅⟒⍀⌇⏁⏃⋏⎅ ⋔⟒? ⊬⍜⎍ ⍜⌇⏁ ⋔⟒ ⏃⋏ ⟒⌖⏁⍀⟒⋔⟒⌰⊬ ⟟⋔⌿⍜⍀⏁⏃⋏⏁ ⏃⍀⏁⟟⎎⏃ ⏁, ⍀⟒⏃⏁⎍⍀⟒. ⟟ ⏁⊑⟟⋏ ⟟ ⍙⟟⌰⌰ ⏁⏃ ⟒ ⋔⊬ ⌿⍜⎍⋏⎅ ⍜⎎ ⎎⌰⟒⌇⊑ ⎎⍀⍜⋔ ⊬⍜⎍ ⟟⋏ ⏃ ⍙⏃⊬ ⏁⊑⏃⏁ ⍙⟟⌰⌰ ⊑⎍⍀⏁ ⊬⍜⎍ ⏁⊑⟒ ⋔⍜⌇⏁."

That expression does not bode well for my future.

Where's Greta?

The camera's view widens, showing what's behind the lizard.

Greta. Unconscious. Strapped to a similar rack, in the same shape I am.

 _No._

I struggle, try to dissolve into a swarm, but the restraints hold me back and nothing at all happens when I most need to _get free and find my child._

The alien chuckles, the first recognizable sound I've gotten out of it. "⟟ ⊑⍜⌿⟒ ⏁⊑⟟⌇ ⋔⏃ ⟒⌇ ⊬⍜⎍⍀ ⌿⍜⌇⟟⏁⟟⍜⋏ ⍜⏚⎐⟟⍜⎍⌇." I have no fucking idea what he's saying but the smug tone makes me snarl. I reach for the Red, but find it thin, far away. Is it really that weak here? Am I just too exhausted?

Maybe the lizard-fucker knows what I'm thinking, or my dismay shows on my face, because it laughs. I am going to rip this fucker apart with my own bare hands, I decide.

I can't recall much of what happened with the ambush, the memories of it fogged and blurred, but I remember my form changing. I hang my head, closing my eye as I concentrate. Muscle tightens and hardens, bones develop armored coating, and I feel shifts as internal changes optimize me for combat. Keep it under the skin, for now. No call to raise an alarm.

"⟟ ⏃⋔ ⌇⏁⟟⌰⌰ ⎍⋏ ⟒⍀⏁⏃⟟⋏ ⏃⌇ ⏁⍜ ⍙⊑⟒⏁⊑⟒⍀ ⊬⍜⎍ ⏃⋏ ⎍⋏⎅⟒⍀⌇⏁⏃⋏⎅ ⋔⟒, ⏚⎍⏁ ⊬⍜⎍ ⌇⊑⍜⎍⌰⎅ ⍜⍜⌿⟒⍀⏃⏁⟒. ⍜⍀ ⏁⊑⟟⋏ ⌇ ⍙⟟⌰⌰ ⍀⏃⌿⟟⎅⌰⊬ ⏚⟒ ⍜⋔⟒...⎍⋏⌿⌰⟒⏃⌇⏃⋏⏁...⎎⍜⍀ ⊬⍜⎍⍀ ⌇⌿⏃⍙⋏."

A door off to my left opens, and two hulking humanoids in heavy armor and carrying what look like cattle prods enter. One stays by the door, the other approaches me, electricity crackling at the weapon's end.

Focus.

I can barely feel the Red, but it's present enough in the both of us for me to find her, in the depths of the station, a bare thread of a connection but still a thread.

Following that thread is like fording a river on unstable stepping-stones with the Red so distant. A plunge back into the abyss we'd wandered for so long threatening at every turn. But with the connection leading me on, lending solidity to the Red by its mere existence, it's still- barely- doable.

I blink into reality in front of her, and as the lizard gapes my hand lashes out and crushes his windpipe. His eyes bug out, but the single step back he takes in shock isn't nearly enough to avoid my grasp. My hand grabs him by the muzzle, and the sigil burned into the back of my hand _flares_ as I reach in and seize his unanchored soul by the throat. The swarm takes its due, and I feel whole again as the shredded remnants of Al'kr, Third Caste scientist, fill a void I hadn't even known was there.

Undoing the shackles takes little time- they're barely more than simple latches, impossible for someone stuck in them to undo, but a five-year-old could do them from the outside. I catch Greta as she falls, still unconscious. I cover her with the somewhat tattered remnants of the lizard's robe, then set her in a corner of the room.

Looks like the one I woke up in. Big screen, creepy torture rack, door off to the left of said rack.

Door which is just now starting to open.

I grin, and launch myself forwards.

 **28:17 Station Time**

Time passes in a blur, too fast and too slow at once, blood and slaughter and everything that crosses my path dying as I hunt through the corridors. The station's largely silent, now. I take a look around speculatively. Whatever this place is, it's not going to be of much use now. And whoever takes possession of it afterwards will have a great deal of trouble getting the blood out of the floor. And walls. And ceilings.

One hand's occupied holding Greta in place against my chest. The other is carrying a not-quite-dead Citadelian- as my newly acquired and subservient souls inform me they're called- by the head. Let's see. No real signage, but I've got a mental map of the station, of a sort...hmm. Let's take the left turn here...yep. Big old sign, the first I've seen, reading 'Laboratories Biological' in the fucked-up script the Citadelians use.

Ah, stolen soul knowledge. What would I do without you?

The door's sealed, or at least it was, but using a Citadelian marine as a door knocker proves 'persuasive' enough to knock it off the track it was using and open up a hole in the metal. It does, unfortunately, liquefy the soldier's face, but I'm not exactly caring.

I've got enough knowledge from the few Psions I've devoured already that I would be more than happy throwing every single one of them into the sun.

A small portion of the swarm takes care of the soldier, while the rest of me moves on.

The labs seem empty at first, but as I walk deeper in I begin to see charred corpses. Not my work. Looks more like someone set off a flamethrower in their faces.

Another captive got loose? Good on them. I should find them. Maybe one of them knows how spaceships work. I don't think any of the ones docked to the station are meant to be flown by one person, and I...might have been a little overzealous in destroying the souls I just chowed down on. Not much mind left in any of them, definitely not enough to do something complicated. Hell, I was lucky to figure out this place _was_ a space station before I ended up wandering into a section the central control could jettison.

Well, I'd eaten the central control as well, so that wasn't a problem anymore, at least.

" _Karras, n'en ya, pvar!"_ someone cries, weakly, from one of the rooms ahead. I step up the pace. That definitely wasn't Citadelian _or_ Psion.

The room I enter is filled with both scientific equipment and dead Psions, neither of which is at all interesting in comparison to the two semi-conscious orange-skinned women huddled against the far wall. Both are glowing, the black-haired one with a guttering purple light while the red-haired one glows emerald. The black-haired one slumps back as I walk closer, breathing heavily, but the red-head looks up, despite the effort it clearly takes her. " _Pvar...pvar, cal ras,"_ she groans, before slumping back as well.

Fuck, what the hell did the Psions _do_ to them?

I can barely feel the Red, even strengthened by the hundreds of lives I've taken, but I have my senses and my knowledge, and that _needs_ to be enough for this.

I sit down across from them, settling Greta against the wall, I pour awareness into each of them, looking for the source of the sickness or fault or _whatever_ is wrong, only for the Red itself to lash out as if I were a foreign invader, tearing at my brain like scalpels. I feel blood drip from my nose and eyes, and ignore it and the attacking presence.

I _will_ heal them, no matter what. I brace myself to fight my own source of power, and-

The pain stops. No time to question it; I focus on their condition.

Each and every cell is practically burning, energy-processing organelles frantically trying to offload radiation and light into chemical bonds and failing to keep pace, other organs altering themselves rapidly in response to it, trying to cope with the overload and breaking down in the process...I can't fix this, can't undo this.

But I can keep them alive long enough for them to recover.

I don't know how long I sit there, pouring magic into their bodies, burning down my stock of souls oh-so-steadily. Minutes? Hours? It doesn't matter. What does matter is that, when I finally stop, their breathing steadies, and their eyes open.

And then the black-haired one punches me in the face.


	2. Chapter 2

**31:31 Station Time, 12th Day of 14th Lunar Cycle, Year 3,102 of Mind**

 **Psion Research Station Alpharius**

Yeah. Punching someone with subdermal armor plating really doesn't go well. If the punch had been stronger, the alien probably would've broken something. As it is, I simply take it as a warning and back away swiftly. She eyes me warily, nursing her hand, but then her fellow alien stirs and her attention instantly snaps to her.

Hmm. Some resemblance between them. Sisters?

They talk quietly, and I avert my eyes after the black-haired one glares at me. Yeah. Psions apparently weren't big on the dignity of prisoners/test subjects. While they talk in their guttural language, I start rooting around the Psion and Citadelian corpses. Armor definitely won't fit, but the robes work fairly well as a kilt. Albeit a little charred. I toss them over to where they're still talking. It should cover them. As for me...wait, does that mean I murdered my way through the station bare-ass naked?

Note to self: destroy all security recordings of this event. And now to make _myself_ some damn clothes.

No long coat, no hat, no suit- I don't need to intimidate anyone at the moment and I've got plenty more to choose from. Let's keep it simple: bluejeans, a dark grey shirt, and a red bomber jacket. No gloves, no symbols, no frills. Clothes, not a costume.

I _still_ can't seem to shift form into a swarm, but instead of the usual cloud of insects, a red mist covers my body, fading away to reveal the clothes. New powers, or just changed ones? We'd fled...too far, really. That deep in the Red, anything could've happened to me. Or...my eyes flick to Greta, still comatose. I move back to her side, even as the two aliens rise, and kneel next to her, reaching into the Red…

Living. Hurt, but healing, and she will wake without my aid.

Okay. Okay. I lean back, let out a breath.

She'll be okay.

" _Tor ave kan?"_

I look up at the redheaded alien. "I honestly don't speak whatever you're speaking," I say quietly. "But let me guess. Tamaranean?"

She nods at the last word.

Oh, great. Redhead and dark-haired, that makes these two Starfire and Blackfire. Just fucking wonderful.

"I hope you speak Interlac," I say, drawing on the knowledge of the Psions to use the regional 'universal' language. Her eyes widen slightly, and I see Blackfire take a step forwards. "What?" I ask.

"You sound like the Psions," Blackfire says flatly, hands beginning to glow with purple light. "What are you?"

"Human. Kind of."

"Is that some form of creation of theirs? Were you sent to stop us? And why did you bring a _child?_ "

"No, no, and she's my daughter. I don't think the lizard-men are going to be sending anyone. They're all dead."

"Dead?" Starfire asks. "What happened?"

I grin. "Me. Now, if I stand up, is your lovely sister going to try to take my head off with a plasma blast? No? Alright, then."

I'm much taller than them, a petty part of me notes. "So. Who the hell are you two, why were the Psions experimenting on you, and do either of you know how to fly a _Equation_ -class cruiser?"

They exchange looks. "I am Koriand'r, and this is my sister Komand'r," Starfire says. Trying to hide the fact that they're royalty. "The Psions raided our ship and kidnapped us. And...are you certain there are no other Psions or Citadelians in the station? And none in ships?"

"Very."

"Then we will not need to fly. And what is your name, whatever you are?"

Part of me wants to say Legion, another part wants to say Grant, and, technically speaking, a large part of 'me' wants to scream in unending agony, but I choose none of these.

"Call me Legate. It's close enough to what I am," I say.

"I am...uncertain about what that word means," Koriand'r says. "But do you know where to locate the communications for this station?"

"Easily," I reply, picking up Greta carefully.

"Show us."

 **32:22 Station Time**

I lean against a relatively blood-free part of the wall while Koriand'r starts messing with the station's communications array. Komand'r gives me a careful, appraising look. "Are all humans good in a fight? Like you?" she asks, in thickly accented Interlac.

I shrug. "Depends on the human. Most, no. Some, yes."

"Hm. What was that...argh, I do not know the proper words. This language is an annoyance."

"Your sister seems to speak it better. Why?"

Her eyes narrow. "Sister is a better...grr...hold still."

"Wha-"

She grabs me by the collar and kisses me, and then something tries to invade my form. By the time she's let go I quarantine it, isolate the bits of foreign agent, and have analyzed it. Harmless, really, and intriguing, it's a cocktail of neurochemical agents and intron-based modifiers, all aimed at language-processing centers. Meant to foster connections and new data inputs, all of which help the receiver instantly process the accompanying genetic memory...all to let someone instantly learn the language of the user.

This is definitely not natural. This is engineered.

Either way, while it doesn't have a soul, it's still living, in a fashion, more akin to symbiotic microbes than anything else. So...assimilate.

"There. Now we can speak properly," Komand'r says with an air of satisfaction.

"You could have _asked_ ," I say flatly.

"Now where would be the fun in that?" she asks.

"Nobody ends up punching your head off your shoulders at the sudden sexual assault," I respond drily. I see Koriand'r look up, roll her eyes at the situation, and return to fiddling with the comms.

"Hmph. Now, as I was saying, my dear sister is a far better diplomat than I. So she made it her business to learn the languages of the Vega Cluster. I did not. And now that that's resolved, what the _hell_ was that ability you used earlier?"

"Magic."

"You're...not bluffing. No, you're not. You actually used magic. Is that why the Psions took you? What about the rest of your species?"

"Psions didn't take me...I think. I ended up here after trying to flee through a...sub-dimension. Woke up strapped to a table and with a lizard taunting me. No idea where the rest of my species is in relation to here, but if the Psions pull something I almost pity them."

Out of the corner of my eye, I see Greta twitch, and open her eyes. At the same time, Koriand'r shouts "Yes!" and punches the air excitedly.

One of those is far more important than the others, and I make my choice of priorities clear by sitting down in front of Greta as she opens her eyes. "How're you feeling, little one?"

She screams, and punches me in the face. And then starts cursing a blue streak- words she probably learned from me- while holding her own hand. Then her eyes narrow. "Wait...Dad? Why are you so tall? And greyish."

Oh. Right. Subdermal plating. Not sure about the height...

Let's just fix that…

"Better?"

She nods. "A lot. Also…"

God damn _it_ right in the nose!

"And what was that for?!"

"Being an idiot earlier and giving up just because you got stabbed! Don't you _dare_ try and die on me, dad! Not ever, not even if Destiny says so! You don't _get_ to do that! You don't-"

I hug her hard, and she starts crying.

"It's all right, little one. I'm here. I'm here."

I hear Komand'r clear her throat behind me, and I glare at her. She looks affronted.

"Sorry to interrupt, but my sister just made contact with our fleet. They're about a week away at full speed, but they're making the best time they can. So we're stuck here for the time being. Can you...do something, about all the blood?"

I tap a finger against one of the splatters. Still living.

Come. You belong to me, now.

The blood glows, then vanishes, and the red light spreads out, consuming all the red liquid in its path.

"Couldn't you have done that sooner?" Komand'r asks.

"Now where would be the fun in that?" I respond mockingly. "Greta, you alright?"

"Yeah, uh...yeah. Who are these people? And where are we? And what happened to my clothes?"

Okay. Let's start explaining.

And maybe, with the free time after, I can figure out why the sigils on my hands have changed.


	3. Chapter 3

**21:18 Station Time, 19th Day of 14th Lunar Cycle, Year 3,102 of Mind**

 **Psion Research Station Alpharius**

I look like shit. The rest of me is fine- better than fine, since apparently about six inches of height and a corresponding amount of muscle seemed to have appeared instantly, and no amount of shape-changing has helped- but my face looks like a nightmare.

One eye's gone entirely, an empty socket and a raw scar leading up to my right temple the only trace that it was ever there. Eyepatch helps but the scar's still obvious. My remaining eye has bags under it that weren't there before the Spear struck, and the eye itself...well, I'm not surprised I'm two for two on getting punched in the face upon waking someone up. The damn thing glows, a sullen, angry red.

The sigils on my hands worry me as well. The pentagrams are gone, and branded in their place are new symbols. Now each symbol boasts two concentric circles, four curved angles leaping in from the outermost to pierce the inner set. Surrounded by sharp triangles, the overall look is of a mouthful of fangs consuming a world. Just like the previous set, the burned and charred skin doesn't actually impede mobility, or even hurt. But to have something that I've had so long, burned into my flesh, change...

Still. All the changes were a small price to pay. Even if, like as not, it'll make things difficult for when the Tamaranean fleet gets here in an hour or so.

I turn away from the bathroom mirror, and walk out into the quarters I've appropriated. The Psions practically slept in their laboratories, and the Citadelian rank and file had their barracks, but the officer's quarters were pretty damn roomy. Naturally the two sisters had claimed the largest rooms, but I wasn't going to complain. Not worth the effort, and it would've been petty when there were four others to choose from.

The Red's still tissue-thin. Made, perhaps, slightly more solid by my presence over time, but still far too thin to travel along as I'm used to. So I'm stuck walking to the command center of the station. Even though, technically, I'm not needed there, it has the connections to all the cameras, and the sisters promised a view to Greta, so it'd be bad manners to not be there.

Also, I really wanted to see a fuck-off huge fleet of starships drop out of FTL. It sounded amazing.

By the time I reach the command center, everyone else has already beaten me there. Greta gave me a brief look before returning to tapping her foot impatiently.

Koriand'r and Komand'r hadn't let much slip about Tamaran in the past week, but what little they'd revealed made me question a _lot_. For one, Komand'r definitely wasn't the megalomaniacal bitch who'd resent and try to kill her little sister for being the King's heir rather than her. In fact, their relationship seemed very...normal. For the second...it took me nearly three days to remember the worlds Dr. Fate had listed, months ago and worlds away. Tamaran had been one of the ones that had been destroyed by the Entities. I'd asked, and learned exactly how the Tamaraneans were living: namely, they'd pulled a Quarian and ended up in a vast nomad fleet. Neither of them had given me details, beyond how the Psions had captured them on a raid, but...hell, a regular fleet had problems, how bad would a migrant one be? Supplies, food, fuel, fending off pirates...shit. But it sounded like they'd kept going for generations...maybe it wouldn't be the ramshackle moving apocalypse I was dreading.

"You're early," Komand'r notes.

"Given that everyone else is here, I think I'm actually late," I respond. "But, seriously, they shouldn't be here for a good long while. Why are you all up here?"

The sisters exchange looks. "Couldn't sleep," Koriand'r finally admits. "Nightmares."

"Psions?"

Komand'r goes still, but Koriand'r nods slowly. I sigh. "And you, Greta?"

My daughter shrugs. "No."

A lie. For all the cosmetic and power changes, I still didn't sleep, and even through the door I'd heard her half-muttered words and desperate pleas. Not about the Psions, but about the Spear.

Still, I don't push. Not the right place, nor the right time.

"So, are we just going to stand around for an hour, or-"

One of the computers chimes. " _Multiple trans-light signatures detected."_ Another chime. " _Numerous vessels detected: total: 1,023. Identifying: Tamaranean Migrant Fleet. Do you wish to engage countermeasures?"_

"No," I say, very quickly. I'm glad that the Psions built their computers to follow voice commands. And that the station intelligence was about as dumb as the average Citadelian.

" _Acknowledged."_

"Display largest concentration of Tamaranean vessels on main screens, and magnify."

The view of the Migrant Fleet snaps onto the frankly massive screens with crystal-clear quality, and I let out a low whistle.

This? This is pretty damn impressive.

The screens can't show the entirety of the fleet, or even display more than one at magnification high enough to make out details, but they can show views of individual vessels off to the side while the main bulk of the Fleet (and yes, it deserves that capitalization) sits in the middle. It looks like a sea of fish at a distance, a massive, shifting swarm of metal. Individual vessels stand out. The largest outright dwarfs almost everything else in the Fleet, closer to a mobile space station than anything else, glowing bright in the center with the skeletal construction of a starship growing in what I am gradually realizing is a mobile shipyard. Others are nearly half the size of the metal behemoth, and seem to undulate slightly as portions of hull slide open to reveal vast windows and rows of crops, or strange, alien forests.

But in the center of the Fleet is the most important ship. It's undecorated, like the hulls of all the other vessels, a grim thing of grey metal, heavily armed and clearly scarred by battle, but unbowed. All the other ships shift around it, but it stays centered, setting a course for all of them. The view is zoomed in on it enough that I can make out the Tamaranean letters on the bow.

 _X'halvram._ X'hal's Fury. The flagship of the Migrant Fleet, stolen memories tell me. Feared and respected by countless planets.

The other vessels are a mishmash of warships, bulk cargo haulers, and designs I can't quite discern the purpose of. Not a military fleet, but this many ships could crush planets nonetheless.

" _Incoming transmission, identifier:_ X'halvram. _Do you wish to accept this transmission?"_

"Main screen."

The view of the Tamaranean fleet vanishes, replaced by a wavering rainbow blur that I 'know' is the result of a FTL communication connection being established. The face that appears as the connection stabilizes is a young man who looks far too young for the crown he wears or the baroque armor on his frame. He looks... vulnerable, but his eyes go immediately to the sisters, and he lets out a breath, not speaking.

"Brother…" Koriand'r begins softly. "Why are you wearing Father's...no."

"King Myand'r... _Father_ did not survive the attack," the young man- Ryand'r? I don't remember the sisters having a brother, but anything's possible- says softly. "But...I am glad you are safe, at least. And who is this man? And the girl?"

"I am Legate," I say, folding my arms. "And this is my daughter, Greta. Psions decided threatening her would get me to submit to vivisection. I decided to kill them and eat their souls. That about sums up everything that led to your sisters not being dead. Any more questions?"


	4. Chapter 4

**22:23 Tamaranean Standard Time, 12th Lunar Month, 31st Day, Year 328 of Wandering**

 _ **X'halvram**_ **, The Royal Chambers**

I am honestly amazed they're letting me in here. Okay, I saved two members of the royal family, but that wasn't...really part of the plan. Does it still count if you 'rescued' them in the process of murdering everything else on the station? I don't think it should.

Whether it counts or not, this place is _amazing_. It's like the Imperium of Man and the Galactic Empire had had a bidding war over the design of this vessel- the corridors and hangars I'd taken to get here had been utilitarian and simple, but in here it looks more like someone had transplanted some 19th-century palace to the royal quarters. There's enough gold here to make a statue of everyone in the room with some left over- hell, I think it's woven into the granite of the _desk._

"Some of my 'advisors' are saying I should've killed you," Ryand'r says quietly.

Instead, I got a shiny new medal, an officer's cabin, and royal thanks. Funny how things work out. Out loud, I say, "That would have seemed...ungrateful."

"Indeed. But there is still that discontent. You are an extremely dangerous person. Some of them were against the two of you meeting me at all."

"So why do it?" I ask, while Greta simply watches quietly, eyes taking in the room.

"Because you brought my family back," Ryand'r says simply. "And we needed to talk in person anyway."

"About what, precisely?"

"About your continued stay, as _part_ of this Fleet."

I fold my arms. "Let me guess. Your thanks and the cabin only apply until you can set me down on an inhabited world."

"Resources are scarce in the void. We trade, we break up asteroids and whatever we can get ahold of in uninhabited systems, but we have no room for people who can't pull with the rest."

"You do realize I have no idea how to get home, right?"

"I do. And I am sorry for that, but locating one obscure world without any leads to start with is something we can not spare the resources to do. If you want, we'll give you some starting funds and recommendations, enough to get you started on most civilized worlds...but we can't commit anything else." He sighs. He looks haggard, worn-down. How old is he? Can't be much more than me.

"Alright," I say. "And if I work for you?"

"That depends on what you have to offer. Given what... _happened_ ….to the Psion research station, you are clearly more than capable in combat. And my sister insists you are a sorcerer of some kind."

"Of flesh and blood and bone, yes. Give me a lab and enough raw material, and I can accomplish very interesting things. Depends on what you need, though."

"Give me an example."

"I could breed combat creatures that can slaughter platoons of marines wholesale. I could work on organic armor that achieves symbiosis with the wearer." Okay, dial it down. He'll probably think I'm insinuating I'll do it to him. "Given time, I could likely increase your yields from cattle, poultry, et cetera by an order of magnitude."

He goes very still, then nods fractionally. "I see."

"And what, exactly, does that get me?"

"If you can deliver on any one of those...or even something near it...then your place in this fleet is assured. The rest depends on time and whether we can actually find any sort of lead to your home world."

"If it helps, it's in Sector 2814, I think the chief Lantern stationed there is Hal Jordan." Not sure how rank shakes out between the three- four, if Alan Scott is still around- Lanterns, but it can't hurt.

"That narrows it down...but we are not on particularly good terms with the Guardians. They have long memories, and keep grudges far longer than is necessary. I will make what inquiries I can, but I make no promises."

It'll have to do. And if he lies to me, I'll tear him apart. So I nod, and Ryand'r smiles.

"Excellent! Now, there is one more thing…"

"Which is?"

"We're celebrating my sisters being safely returned. If you don't have sufficiently formal clothing, we could provide…"

A thought, and the jacket and jeans melt away, reforming as a white dress shirt, red vest, and black trousers. I tilt my head slightly, and shift the eyepatch's surface into something covered in intricate golden designs. Greta looks at this, takes a step back, and frowns in concentration, before laughing as her own basic coveralls reform into what I think is a red-colored version of a Disney princess dress.

Ryand'r blinks, then shrugs. "That will do."

 **24:16 TST, 12th Lunar Month, 31st Day, Year 328 of Wandering**

 _ **X'halvram,**_ **Concourse of Celebration**

There are two thoughts in my mind right now.

One, this ship is far, far larger than anything ever has a right to be, as what appears to be a decent-sized urban boulevard has managed to fit itself into part of the ship and appear _small_ in comparison to the looming walls on all sides.

Two, I am amazingly _overdressed_ in comparison to literally everyone else. Most of what I've seen of Tamaranean people until now had been Komand'r and Koriand'r, both of whom had worn appropriated coveralls while on the station, and the powered-armored marines and soldiers who'd escorted me to the King's quarters. Hell, even Ryand'r had been wearing a kimono-esque robe when we'd talked.

Now, though...well, if parts of Tamaranean ship design looked like the Imperium of Man, Tamaranean formal clothing took its cues from the Adeptus Custodes. And by that I mean three-quarters-naked, not covered in golden armor.

Don't think about Pillar Men, don't think about Pillar Men, don't think about-

"So this is what your home world considers formal clothing?"

I blink, and turn to look Komand'r in the eyes- and _only_ in the eyes. "Yes. Yours?"

She shrugs. "Of course. I will admit, yours does make you...exotic-looking."

I chuckle. "You're one to talk. I'm pretty certain this would give some of the more conservative sort back home an apoplectic fit. Not that that's a bad thing."

"Why? Do you have religious prohibitions against showing too much of yourself?"

"One, we don't turn ultraviolet light into power like you do, two, the dominant culture originally hailed from a relatively cold climate and took its mode of dress with it, and three, some of the more eccentric religions, yes," I say with a smile. I'm babbling, a little, but trying to encapsulate the entirety of Earth culture in a few basic sentences is a wonderful distraction. "Greta seems happy enough despite looking different."

"Oh? And you know this how?"

"Same way I know exactly where she is. Magic." I tap the side of my head. "Comes in handy."

"You've proven that already, I think."

I nod, looking at the crowd of people chatting with one another, eating random finger foods, and generally acting almost like you'd expect a stereotypical high society crowd to act. "So, how do celebrations like this usually go? If you're going to ask me to dance, I should probably warn you I have no idea how to."

"I'm certain that if my sister or I did dance with you there would be some form of political fight over it by the next morning."

"Succession crisis?"

"Marriage, like as not. My sister and I are our brother's heirs until he takes a wife and has his own children, and the vultures are already circling," she says, quietly enough to not be overheard. It's made easier by the fact that most are keeping their distance from the two of us.

"That low an opinion of them?" I ask softly.

Her hands clench into fists for a moment, and she takes a breath, then lets it out. "They are fools. More concerned with appearances and personal power than any actual ruling capability. My sister...I love her, but she is too kind-hearted to inherit the throne. Yet who would place a cripple in the line of succession?"

"You aren't crippled."

"Hmph. Your species is not like ours, clearly. You don't know what flight is like, not being able to use it must not even enter-"

"No, I mean, given that your cells were basically turning into plasma emitters when I found you, I had to start from scratch on about your entire body at one point or another in the process of keeping you and your sister from exploding. Unless it's a congenital defect, it should be fixed now," I say politely, snagging a glass of something bright blue and probably extremely alcoholic as we pass a waiter. "It isn't a birth defect, is it…?"

"No," she says, very quietly, staring down at her hands. "I...I can…"

"Go ahead. High ceilings here," I say, taking a step back.

She looks down at the floor, closes her eyes, and leaps upwards. And keeps going, leaving a trail of amethyst light behind her.

I ignore the gasps and shocked cries of the other guests, and sit back to enjoy the show.


	5. Chapter 5

**14:11 TST, 12th Lunar Month, 33rd Day, Year 328**

 _ **Tamaranagar,**_ **Main Environmental Section**

Even here, the Red's thin.

It shouldn't be- the place is something akin to a savannah, a place filled with life...and yet the Red's still thin. I'm starting to think it's just part of the nature of the Migrant Fleet...or that Earth is particularly mystically strong. The latter would make sense...maybe. I can't remember any aliens that used magic in DC canon...

"Like this?" Greta asks as she completes the last section of the circle.

I nod, smiling. "Exactly so."

Koriand'r coughs politely. "Why must you make this circle so far from those who need it? It is not precisely easy to bring people across ships to this place."

"Normally, I wouldn't," I respond lightly. "But the Red is still very, very thin, across your entire fleet. It's like...trying to start a fire at high altitudes. Nothing can burn, there isn't enough oxygen. And so...a place of power is needed." I gesture. "This is the closest I'm going to get."

"But you seemed to have no trouble healing me and my sister."

"I was doing that by burning through Psion souls. Since I need those to recover from damage and stay alive, I'd rather _avoid_ using them up."

She frowns, but nods along. There's a moment of silence as Greta works on the circle, something she'd volunteered to do.

"So, when do you plan on having the wedding?" Koriand'r asks brightly.

I groan, and wish I had a staff to lean on. I settle for giving Greta a nod, before walking out of her earshot, Koriand'r following. "Nothing _happened_ , Koriand'r."

"If nothing happened, why are you blushing?"

"Because I prefer privacy when it comes to my relationships."

"So something _did_ happen after she kissed you and carried you off."

I glare at her. "Are you trying to wind me up on purpose or is this just how you naturally are all the time?"

"Why can it not be both?"

"Stay out of my business, Koriand'r. Please."

Something in her eyes hardens, and she folds her arms. "We are _royalty_ , Legate. When your 'business' intersects with that of my sister, it becomes the business of our entire people."

I resist the urge to make a joke about her probably-unintentional innuendo, and sigh. "Like I said. Nothing happened. We...talked. About the same things you're probably worrying about right now. Your brother's succession, how your nobility could react, what me being in a relationship with her would mean, even if it was just a one-night stand. And..."

"And?"

I meet her eyes. "We're not going to, not for a long while. And if some ponce with a lineage longer than his favorite appendage bugs you, or her, or the King about it, tell him to take it up with me."

"You do realize that answer will only fuel the rumor mill even more, you know."

I shrug. "Never had much use for that type of person in my life beforehand. Don't see that changing now."

"Legate."

It's funny. From what I can remember, Starfire never had the kind of commanding tone Koriand'r does now.

"Answer me truly. What are your intentions towards my sister?"

I swallow. "Truly? I barely know either of you. Once that changes...maybe. But I would have to go home eventually…" I look back at where Greta is working on the circle. "For her sake, if nothing else."

She looks at Greta too, and nods. "What...happened to her mother?"

"You assume something did?"

"I think you would be even less inclined to romance than you are now if you had a wife waiting at home."

Let's just nip that perception in the bud _very_ quickly. "She's dead. Her father too. Her brother killed her, too."

"What?"

I raise a hand, sigils flaring. "The Red can do many things, Koriand'r. It is life itself. And with the conviction to use it well, it can undo something that never should have been done. She lingered on- this was no denial of her rest. Just a chance at a future she never had." I smile. "I will not allow anyone else to endanger that a- oh, hell, I'm going into the 'threaten everything' part again, aren't I?"

Koriand'r tries very hard not to laugh, but it's obvious she wants to anyway. I wave a hand in resignation. "Get it over with."

Her laughter makes Greta look up from the circle before visibly shrugging and going back to work. I just wait, tapping my foot.

Koriand'r looks at my face and dissolves into another paroxysm of giggles, before visibly controlling herself again and looking back at me. "We've gotten off-topic."

"A bit," I admit.

"But I can safely assume I will not be having to help plan any weddings in the near future?"

"None whatsoever," I say, in my most utterly deadpan voice.

"A pity. I was looking forward to interrogating you about your home planet's wedding ceremonies."

"Out of curiosity, what does a wedding involve on Tamaran?"

"For the royal family? A great deal more gladiatorial matches than you would probably think, but otherwise it's a fairly sedate affair."

"I doubt that. Very much."

"Bed my sister and you'll see for yourself in short order," Koriand'r says teasingly.

I just facepalm.

 **12:03 TST, 12th Lunar Month, 35th Day, Year 328**

 _ **Tamaranagar,**_ **Main Environmental Section**

There's fewer than I would have expected. The Tamaranean population numbers somewhere around fifty-six million, you'd think that they'd have more people who were permanently injured.

It's probably due to the fact they have cybernetics and regenerative tanks for the most common sorts of crippling injury. Only neurological conditions, autoimmune disorders, and a few other rare conditions that couldn't be handled by the resources of the Migrant Fleet were still actually _crippling._

I'd been expecting hundreds, perhaps thousands. Still, one-hundred sixty-three is a pretty good number. Not one that takes all that long to deal with- most of the time is getting them close enough for me to hit them all at once with the Red- but still...feels good to see people walk again, or be able to take off isolation suits, or simply be able to _breathe_ without artificial assistance. There's a dozen or so who were suffering from the same condition Komand'r did. I can see her leading them in the first flights they've been able to manage in years, the amethyst glow that surrounds her easy to see against the artificial sky. I smile slightly, not particularly caring if anyone sees. She was...not nearly as abrasive as I'd expected. Actually, compared to what little I remember of Blackfire, Komand'r is practically Buddha-like in her empathy and patience. Either way, I like seeing her happy, and clearly one of the best ways to do that is let her enjoy something she never got to...

"Mr...Legate? Sir?"

I blink, and shake my head slightly, before looking to one of the patients. Argen'Tal, young adult (probably would be in his early twenties if he was human, but the different length of the Tamaranean year and their differing length of growth makes my head spin trying to calculate all the differences and convert it to a human baseline), just got cured of a neurodegenerative condition that would've killed him in six...fuck it, six months.

"Don't call me sir. I'm no officer, and certainly not a knight," I say. "What do you need?"

"Your...magic. It's not...blood sorcery, is it?"

"...how complex do you want your answer to be? The short one is: no."

"And the long one?"

"Magic runs off of thematic connections as much as physical ones. The Red is living animals, all of which bleed. Sometimes that blood is hemoglobin, sometimes it's a basic compound that melts your face off, but it's all blood. So blood is both useful as a source of material to physically affect, and as a link to whatever living thing you like if you're working at a distance. Hell, if you need a link for _someone_ , even generalist magic will...do…"

I stop as he takes a step back, and chuckle. "Got a little too into it, didn't I?"

"You could say that," Argen'Tal says cautiously.

"Right. My apologies- I don't often get to discuss the details with someone who needs to know the basics. Either I don't talk about them at all or the person I'm speaking with is as far beyond me as I am beyond normal people without magic. But, less scary answer, 'blood sorcery' is a very big category and mostly works because of the many magical links blood naturally has. It works well with the Red in particular, but the Red has many methods of channeling it. Why do you ask?"

Argen'Tal pauses, his hands coming together in an upside-down steeple that I'm pretty sure is the Tamaranean equivalent of looking around nervously. "How much do you know about the Red Lanterns?"


	6. Chapter 6

**13:43 TST, 1st Lunar Month, 2nd Day, Year 329**

 _ **X'halvram**_ **, Royal Gymnasium**

"I'm not sure whether to be surprised or not that you enjoy close combat," Ryand'r said as he looked over the racks of weapons. He picked out a sabre- simple enough, and almost identical in use to the plasma blades he favored in actual combat.

"How so?" Legate asked curiously as he swung the polearm he'd chosen experimentally. The weapon was an archaic thing, little more than a cleaver-like blade with a foot-long spearpoint on a long staff.

"On the one hand, you continue to dress similarly to how you were at the party."

"I like being fancy," Legate said glibly.

"On the other...how did my sister put it? You are very good at beating motherfuckers with other motherfuckers."

Legate audibly choked, before starting to laugh, bending nearly double in the process.

Ryand'r waited silently, trying not to smile at the man's display. He was a King, after all, and while his sisters clearly liked him, there were appearances to be maintained.

Especially with the fact that at least two of the dozen bodyguards lining the walls as 'supervision' were spies for one noble or another. He wished that he'd had men he could trust...but the same lance strike that had torn open _X'halvram_ and killed Father had taken the best and most loyal of the royal guards with him.

"Heheheheheh...sorry, Your Majesty. Caught me by surprise," Legate said, straightening.

"It's nothing to worry about," Ryand'r said, calmly. "Are you ready?"

Legate frowned. "Sure we should be using live steel?"

"If sharp objects were enough to hurt you, we would never have met. And I doubt that, if you do injure me, that you could not heal it in an instant."

Legate shrugged. "Fair enough." He looked around the gymnasium, a surprisingly wide space with high ceilings. His sole eye flicked over the guards for a moment, before the human grunted, and smiled widely. "Alright then, Your Majesty." The polearm spun in Legate's hands like a windmill, before the man snapped into a picture-perfect ready stance, blade forward and waiting. "Let's begin."

Ryand'r barely had his sabre up to block before the human was on him, attacking wildly. There was no skill or art in his attacks, just raw force. But when each attack was almost- _almost_ \- too fast to be seen and every parry and deflection of the polearm nearly knocked the blade from his hand, force was more than enough. Within moments, Ryandr found himself giving ground, until finally one swing knocked him flat on his back and sent his blade flying from his hands.

Legate offered him a hand up. Ryand'r accepted it.

"Why didn't you try to fly?" the human asked. There wasn't any judgement in it, just curiosity.

"I...didn't think to," Ryand'r admitted, as he found a bench outside the sparring ring and sat down. "Most of my training has been simulating ship-boarding. Tight corridors. No point to flight there, no room to use it. This…" He indicated the wide-open, high-ceilinged space of the gymnasium. "This is not usual."

"Hm."

"You're angry about something," Ryand'r guessed.

Legate's eye narrowed. "No."

"I can tell. You have the same mulish expression my sister does."

"Komand'r?"

"Koriand'r, actually."

"Heh." Legate stared off into the distance for a moment. "Managed to get a look into your databases," he said, finally. "Looked up the Red Lanterns." He snorted. "Least I know why half your people seem petrified of me, now. Hell, I'd be worried, too, if the last time someone using blood magic rose to prominence they depopulated a quarter of the galactic spiral arm with an army of raving madmen. I'm even the same color- easy enough to get it confused."

Ryand'r made a non-committal sound. He'd heard enough rumor-mongering about the very same topic, not just from the general population, but even a couple of members of the Admiral's Council had begun making inquiries. He'd had to tell them personally that no, Legate was no Red Lantern. The fact that he'd had to do so, when the mere fact that Legate hadn't been a raging berserker should have been proof enough, worried him.

The fact that they probably wouldn't believe him worried him still more.

He wished Father was still alive. He'd have known how to handle this. How to placate the Admirals, how to give Legate the honors he deserved without making it look as though he was drawing the older man in too close, how to handle Legate himself without gaining yet another enemy for the Migrant Fleet through some cultural gaffe…

There were a lot of things King Myand'r would've known how to do. But he was dead, and Ryand'r was King now- though that may be in doubt now, with his older sisters returned.

By all rights, the throne should go to Komand'r, now. She was the eldest. But Ryand'r had been coronated already, and that made things...complicated. More so because, until a few days ago, it had been widely considered that she was not suitable for the throne. Koriand'r had been considered the rightful heir- something that all three of them had hated, because for all of Komand'r's bitterness and Koriand'r's passion, it was obvious that his eldest sibling had the better temperament for the necessary sacrifices and careful balancing his people needed in their leader. For survival, if nothing else.

"Your Majesty? You okay?"

Ryand'r frowned, and picked up a bottle of water. "I am thinking, Legate."

"I figured. It was either that or the royal inbreeding produced early-onset dementia."

Ryand'r glared at the older man. "You are trying to mess with me."

Legate shrugged. "A bit. If it helps keep you humble."

"And you think I need that?"

"You're an adolescent and a king. I'd rather I not end up working under a Caligula, thank you very much."

"I...do not understand."

"Ancient emperor, arrogant little shit, mad with power, got murdered for being the latter two by his own guardsmen, if I remember my history right."

It was a very good thing Father had insisted on bringing all three of them on diplomatic missions where a rein on one's emotions was essential, because Ryand'r had to fight to keep his expression untroubled. "I...see." He looked at the nearest of his bodyguards. "Leave us."

"It was a joke, King."

"I am aware," Ryand'r said evenly. "But what I am about to say should not leave this room."

The bodyguards, a dozen men in unpowered armor, bowed stiffly, and silently left the room.

"Are we not being listened to?" Ryand'r asked.

Legate cocked his head slightly, before his sole eye flared red, and he nodded. "We're clear," he said shortly. "What's so important you want to trust a foreign contractor with it?"

"The succession."

"You're trusting _me_ with your political issues," Legate said flatly. He sighed. "I'm pretty sure you lot aren't going to have a dispute over who rules. You're King."

"There are many who would desire otherwise."

"Then knock their heads together until they see sense. You're the one with the shiny hat, the command of their allegiance by oath. And Komand'r definitely doesn't want the throne."

Ryand'r gaped. "What?"

"We talked. I think what she said was 'if those musty old fools who spent their entire lives disregarding me think that I will be grateful for their support now, they have another thing coming'," Legate said with a shrug. "Seriously, did you not ask her?"

It...certainly seemed in character for his sister. He loved her, but after years of being looked down on, if a Captain or Admiral said the void was black she was almost certain to call it white just to spite them.

"I...should have," he said. "But, with how everything has gone...I have barely seen her since she returned."

"Take it from someone who didn't have this advice- you should make the time. And not make assumptions about how someone would feel." Legate's ever-present smile turned bitter. "Lost a great deal because I was too dense to figure that out." He looked at the gymnasium doors. "And also, find yourself some trustworthy guards. I don't need a reputation as 'the foreigner manipulating the king' on top of everything else."

Ryand'r nodded, lost in thought for a moment.

His sisters would support him. But the Captains and Admirals did not know that, not well enough to be certain. There would always be those who would try to convince his sisters otherwise, as well. And people feared Legate, thought him a loose end. They had no context for him- not with how he seemingly dispensed healing at random, with no expectation of repayment, not how he had slaughtered the Psions with, the tales went, not the slightest bit of effort, and most certainly not with the powers he wielded.

"I...may have a solution. To all these problems," he said slowly.

Legate gestured for him to continue.

"When I was crowned, the Admirals- all of them, not just those on the Council- knelt and swore oaths of fealty, as you said. But my sisters, and you, have not."

Legate's eye narrowed. "That's a solution?"

Not a perfect one- there were always those who put far less stock in word and honor than most Tamaraneans, and they would remain unconvinced that Legate was not a hostile infiltrator- but a solution. And even with those few unworthies, the fact that Legate would have some standing in Tamaranean society, as a sworn man to Ryand'r, would give them...context.

Ryand'r said none of this, instead nodding. "It would nip the ambitions of those who would like to use my sisters in the bud. And for you…"

"What would it entail, for me, Your Majesty?" Legate asked, voice suddenly hard. "Would I still be allowed to go home? Or would my word be turned to chains?"

"If you think I would do that, you know very little of me," Ryand'r said, meeting the man's burning eye without flinching. "And, I think, less of what my sisters would do if I turned into that kind of tyrant. Fealty would mean that you follow my commands, protect my people from those who would do them harm, and serve the Migrant Fleet to the best of your ability. And if and when a way home for you and your daughter is found, you have my solemn word that I would not keep you from returning as fast as possible."

Legate closed his eye, and took a deep breath. "I will...need some time, to think about this," he said. "But...thank you, Your Majesty. I will let you know when I make a decision. Should I tell your sisters?"

"Legate, I just said I needed to reach out to them more. Do you think having you deliver a message that important is part of that?"

Legate chuckled. "I suppose not." He stood, and bowed. "I should go see how Greta is doing in her studies. I shall see you again soon, Your Majesty."

In a moment, he was gone.


	7. Chapter 7

**23:12 TST, 1st Lunar Month, 3rd Day, Year 328**

 _ **Tamarangar,**_ **Livestock Sections**

The ecological ships are a wonder. Each one of them is multiple kilometers long, sectioned off into gigantic chambers, each with their own simulated sky and sun. Perfectly tuned to imitate Tamaran, lost over three centuries ago.

There are a dozen of these vessels, each precious beyond measure- their shells, the mobile forge-ship _Herest_ could build, but the life within them now is the only place in the galaxy where it could be found. Unique.

Other sections of the vessels are given over to rough ecological preserves, like the place where I'd healed those of the Migrant Fleet who had been beyond the help of Tamaranean medicine. Those places were mostly savannah and forests- Tamaran had been a drier planet than Earth, even if only slightly, and rainforest had been rare.

Here, though, was where they raised the animals that would, inevitably, be slaughtered for meat. Not the ones that ended up ground into protein- those were on different decks- but the ones that probably would've qualified for a 'free range' label back on Earth.

These particular animals are sheep...that is, if sheep had vertical jaws capable of splitting their heads in twain, clawed feet, and six eyes. Still, they have wool and even make vaguely sheep-like noises.

"Should've known I'd find you here."

I smile at Komand'r's tone and give the sheep-thing a scratch behind his ears. "How so?" I ask.

"I've known you for a little more than a week, and yet every time you need to think about something you go somewhere with animals."

"Keeping track of me, then?"

She rolls her eyes. "No, letting the blood mage wander the entirety of the Fleet unattended is exactly the best possible way to do things."

"Touche. But yes, I come to places like this." I look over the large fields that dominate this section of the ship, the grazing herds of sheep-things. "It's peaceful. Animals are...simpler. Less demanding."

Komand'r nods. "Less likely to involve you in politics, you mean."

"That, too," I admit. I give the sheep-thing a last pat before moving on. "What do you want to talk about?"

"Koriand'r and I are going to give our oaths in two days. Ryand'r wants to make a ceremony of it. No, needs to."

"And you want me to kneel as well. I did tell him I'd give it some thought. Though I am a little surprised that Koriand'r would give up a chance at the throne so easily." I'm not, but I am interested in what Komand'r will say in response.

"Kori is passionate, loving, a fierce fighter, and kind to everyone...and she would hate every moment of being queen. And you should know that, you've spent more than five minutes in her presence," Komand'r says frostily.

I chuckle. "Just checking, Princess. I know you do not want such a thing, and Ryand'r holds it only due to duty. That left her, and if she does not think herself worthy...well, duty will do well enough in a ruler."

"You can drop the 'mysterious magician' act, Legate," Komand'r says, folding her arms.

"Sorry. You try mainlining a cosmic force of life itself and not taking a turn for the grandiose."

"So?"

"So what?"

"So what do your thoughts tell you?"

I stay silent for a moment, running thoughts that have bothered me for most of two days in my head again.

Fuck it. Talking is supposed to help.

"On the one hand...it solves many things. It reassures most of the people that need reassuring that I'm… Well, even if they think I'm scary, at least I'm bound by my word. And your people take that highly."

"Yours don't?"

"You want an agreement on Earth, you get it in writing. In triplicate. And hire a team of lawyers to go over the contract for loopholes." I chuckle. "I'll admit I'm exaggerating, but you get the idea. But your people are different, and my word would be considered bond enough. I'd have a standing your Captains and Admirals could understand, something they could use to approach me and know me well enough to figure out I'm not just some powerful foreigner. It would even help Greta, let me get her some formal schooling- which she needs, not just for knowledge but so she can meet other children...and just the fact that I would have a formal rank as the King's sworn man would mean I could start to make a useful start on the bioengineering...and yet…"

"Yet?"

"And yet there's a single problem. I am not mortal."

"Immortality hardly sounds like a problem," Komand'r says. "It also sounds like arrogance."

"I was going to say 'not human', but that hasn't applied fully in a long time," I say with a shrug. "But it's true. I am...well, I am something deeply bound to the Red. Enough that I may not be _able_ to go against my given word. One day, I _will_ find a way home, and your people will know of it too. And Ryand'r...Ryand'r might not go to war. Would not go to war, he is no conqueror. But can the same be said of whoever follows him? His heirs and their heirs and on and on until the universe ends? What will the kings and queens of the future be like? Good rulers, makers of peace...or will they be tyrants, men and women of blood and iron? I will still be there, like as not...and my oaths will still hold. Will I be forced to act against my home, bound by ancient words and loyalties?"

Komand'r raises an eyebrow as I stop speaking. "Are you finished?"

"Quite."

"I think you are being a fool, Legate."

I glare at her, and open my mouth to speak. She glares right back, and I close it.

"A fool," she repeats. "You worry about the future when the present is right in front of you. You act as though you are powerless when you are anything but. You are so worried about some distant queen commanding you to do wrong? Then when that threatens, ensure she never takes the throne!" She takes a step forward, jabbing me in the chest with a finger. "If you are no longer mortal, if you have such power that you fear being used as a weapon, _use_ that power to ensure you never will be!" I take a step back, and she advances. "But don't you _dare_ use a future that you don't even know is coming to justify not doing what can help you now," she growls.

I block her next attempt to invade my personal space with my own hand, grabbing her wrist. "So I should not even think of the consequences of my choice, is that it?"

"No!" She looks about ready to tear her hair out in frustration. "But you shouldn't gamble a centuries-distant possibility as a valid reason to abandon those of us here and now. And you should be smart enough to know that. You should be smart enough to know better, Legate. You aren't helpless. You will _never_ be helpless."

Helpless? What does she mean by...oh. _Oh._

"Did I hit a nerve?" I ask. Komand'r glares at me, and I take yet another step back, raising my hands slightly. "Alright, clearly I did. And you have a point- the future doesn't guarantee anything like that fear. I have to take the long view, though. I can't afford not to."

Komand'r's silent, for a moment. "Do you know, for certain, that your word would completely bind you?" she says carefully.

"No. I have not needed to swear this kind of oath before. And for more mundane promises, those I always kept, out of habit if nothing else."

"Then there's something simple we can test. Swear to obey the next command I give you. If you can choose not to follow it, then you have nothing to worry about."

That's...absurdly simple. And it might just work.

"Why the hell didn't I think of that?" I grouse. "Magic's supposed to be my speciality."

"That is why I am royalty and you are an interstellar vagabond," Komand'r says, faux-haughtily. "So, Legate of the Red, do you swear to follow the next command I give, no matter what it may be?"

Well, nothing to lose. Unless she's very good at concealing some sociopathic streak. In that case, might be a lot to lose.

Deep breaths, Legate.

"I do so swear, Princess Komand'r of Tamaran."

"Then stand on your head."

I do nothing. Then I chuckle. "Were you seriously hoping that would work?"

"A little. It would have been amusing, at least." Her expression turns serious again. "So. No more compulsion than honor would demand. Does that lessen your worries?"

I let out a breath. "A great deal, Princess."

"And so you will give your fealty to my brother?"

I shrug, putting hands in pockets. "See no reason why not, now. Know everything else that would be expected of me, and none of it is that kind of worrisome."

"Good. And since you will be staying with us for quite some time, I ask for two things."

"Yes?"

"First, my name is Komand'r, not 'Princess'. Second..." Her gaze softens. "I would like to hear more of your home world. You were right when you said we should know each other better."

I chuckle, and gesture across the fields. "Plenty of time to walk and talk, Komand'r."

"Why do that when we can fly?" she responds, before vaulting into the sky.

What, does she think I can just...well, alright. Let's see…

Crimson wings, each feather dark red, erupt from my back, and with a thunderclap of displaced air I rise to meet her.

Today is going to go alright, after all.


	8. Chapter 8

**12:02 TST, 1st Lunar Month, 5th Day, Year 329**

 _ **X'halvram,**_ **Throne Room Entrance**

Breathe, Legate. Koriand'r and Komand'r have already gone ahead. Given their oaths. I've rehearsed this, it's going to be fine.

I clasp my hands behind my back and take a few deep breaths, running everything through in my head. Go in, get stared down by the Admiral's Council - and Ryand'r himself - take the oath, kneel, rise when ordered to, leave.

Simple enough.

Just wish I hadn't revealed my shapeshifting abilities to Koriand'r when she'd questioned my choice of attire. Apparently a dark red three-piece suit would offend the fashion sensibilities of the Admirals…

Okay, I can see the actual political reasoning behind it - it would make me look even more foreign, and I'm trying to _avoid_ that, but still. I'd almost prefer that over what she managed to convince me to 'wear'.

Apparently, it's based off of a piece of Tamaranean folklore - I caught a motor-mouthed explanation about how it's similar to a traditional 'good wizard' costume - albeit altered to be more...appropriate, for something this important. The main piece is a large cloak, a bright red, held at the shoulder by a large golden pin shaped like an intricate piece of knotwork. A pair of black trousers, held up by a brown belt, and a set of dark red boots are the only other things I'm wearing.

Wait.

Bright red, black, dark red. Matching the hair colors of the king, Komand'r, and Koriand'r. Was that...okay, that's one way to show my allegiance, I guess. Should've known something was up when she insisted on that order of colors.

Well, too damn late now to change anything, and with my knowledge of Tamaranean politics I'd probably insult someone if I switched out the colors.

Right. Doors are opening. Let's do this.

The throne room is as immense as one would expect, with soaring ceilings and walls lined with tapestries and pieces of art interspersed with false windows letting in artificial sunlight. The red carpet on which I'm walking ends at the front of the room, where a throne sits on a dais, flanked by six smaller chairs on each side.

Twelve men and women - the Admiral's Council, all in formal robes, each displaying a sequence of colors, none of them alike - and all of them exposing quite a bit more skin than my own cloak. And King Ryand'r- who looks far older than his actual age, clad in armor and with the simple gold band of his crown on his brow. The throne - less a chair and more an immense piece of grey rock, salvaged from Tamaran itself - seems to tower above him.

In the silence of the room, my footfalls echo. One hundred steps. That's all I need. An exact count measured out by some court functionary long ago, now enshrined in the ceremony.

I come to a halt at the foot of the throne, hands clasped behind my back. I take note of the few camera drones- small, unobtrusive things, left to float in the air- that watch me from every angle. The Admirals, I watch more closely.

These are the men and women who rule the Fleet in truth...the King can dictate policy and command their fealty, but they are the ones who make decisions on most of the Fleet's operations.

Five, I peg as warriors, by their grim expressions and scars. Three...the intensity of their gaze as they watch me, and the faint glimpses of cybernetic augmentation- an eye here, a patch of neural weave there- make me label them as scientists or technocrats. Two are grey, drab men, with the steady weighing eyes of bureaucrats. And the last two...cold eyes, calloused hands. Slightly more ornate robes than the others, but despite that, even less restricting than those of their compatriots, with the subtle shapes of concealed weaponry hidden beneath them. Spies, then, or whatever else the Tamaraneans would call them, to soften the fact of their jobs.

And last and highest of all, King Ryand'r, Lord of the Migrant Fleet, Guardian of the Blood of Tamaran, and my soon-to-be liege lord. Clad in golden powered armor, sitting upon his throne like some ancient god ready to deliver judgement.

"Why have you come before King and Council?" he asks. Formal words- _everyone_ knows why, but the ceremony is the important part.

"To give oath and fealty," I reply.

"On whose behalf is this oath made?"

"On my own behalf; it is given freely."

"Very well. Do you swear to serve your King, to obey all lawful commands given by him, to hold his word above your own will?"

"I do so swear."

"Do you swear to protect the Fleet, to guard it against danger, to bring wrath upon its foes?"

"I do so swear."

"Do you swear to serve those of the Fleet to the best of your ability, to bring succor to the wounded and infirm, to lend your skill and might to its betterment?"

"I do so swear."

"And how long will these oaths hold you?"

"Until all honor breaks or until the hour of my death," I reply formally.

"Kneel."

I fall to one knee, head lowered, staring at the ground as Ryand'r walks closer. A touch of a bared sword, first on one shoulder, then the other.

"Your fealty is given freely, and accepted," Ryand'r intones. "You are now bound to Throne and King, by oath and honor. To mark you joining this Fleet, a new name must be given. Rise, Legate Korol'krovic, bound to the Fleet on this day."

 _Korol'krovic_. Red Lord. I guess Ryand'r doesn't approve of 'subtle'. Still, it's a new name, something to bind me further to the Migrant Fleet. The last person who received a name...a roving archaeologist, a century ago, who was adopted into the Fleet after he recovered several ancient Tamaranean artifacts.

I get to my feet, looking Ryand'r in the eye. "Thank you, my King. What do you require of me?"

Ryand'r walks back to his throne, sitting back down before nodding. "When we first met, you made an offer to me: to work your art on our livestock, and see our people fed well. It is well past time you begin that work. Report to the science vessel _Tothand'r_. You will find all you require there."

I bow. "As you command, my liege."

 **2:31 TST**

 _ **Tothand'r,**_ **Secondary Gene Labs**

"Wasn't expecting to see you here," I say to Argen'tal.

The young man nods, leading me towards the lab the ship's Captain - a hard-faced young woman with half her body replaced with cybernetics named Zhala'so - had assigned to me. "Before...well, before I got sick, I was going to go into bioresearch and lab work. Since you cured me, a lot of doors have opened back up...and after the King gave you a title, I had enough pull to get assigned to you."

"Anyone else I'll be working with?"

"For now? Not yet, but I bet if you get results you'll have half the ship trying to figure out how you did it."

A corner of my mouth quirks up into a smile. "Let's see what you've got tech-wise, and then I'll be able to judge if I'm any better."

 **3:12 TST**

"You're able to directly observe DNA."

"Yes."

"In real time, and able to make alterations."

"Yes?"

I grin _very_ widely. "Oh, this is going to be _so_ much fun."

"Fun?"

I throw a companionable arm over Argen'tal's shoulders. "Yes, fun."

 **3:37**

"What on _earth_ are you doing with that Zhazin worm?"

"Science! More accurately, I'm making sausage worms."

"I'm almost afraid to ask, but what are 'sausage worms'?"

"Give me five minutes and I'll be able to answer that. Now keep an eye on the DNA scanner. I want a record of what my magic does to this poor thing."

" _Cheep?"_

"Shush, you."

 **3:45**

Argen'tal has an expression I'd normally associate with severe shell shock as he stares at the pile of literal sausage. "How the hell…"

"Simple. Just rigged the little guy so that when the nervous system dies it induces a massive overhaul of the entire body. Salt dumps, muscular agitation, a bit of acid neutralization to soften up the exoskeleton and convert it to casing, and boom, sausage."

"You _tapped it_ _on the head,_ and it became _edible cured meat products."_

"Magic. Oh, and it has an exposed node right in between the skull plates so you can work it easily."

One of Argen'tal's eyes twitches violently, before he takes a deep breath. "Is this edible?"

"Run it through a scanner and try it yourself," I say.

Argen'tal plucks off one of the sausages with a gloved hand and walks across the lab to the toxicity detector, dumping the meat product inside. The nondescript device, little more than a metal box with a small monitor, hums quietly for a moment before displaying a list of text that I can't read from where I'm sitting at my own bench.

Argen'tal takes the sausage out, and takes a contemplative bite. He puts it down. "It's delicious. And you're going to teach me how the hell your magic works, because everything I know of conventional biology says what you just did is impossible."

I grin.


	9. Chapter 9

_Gods are not made, nor are they born, nor are they mortals who seize power.  
Let me explain, for those who know of examples of all these things.  
Gods are wave functions. Gods are reflections of mortal minds on reality. Gods are archetypes.  
Gods always exist, and if they do not they have never existed. In such a way, a god is not made or unmade- it simply is.  
Gods bear no kinship- merely domains. Their families are collections of similar archetypes. In such a way, a god is not born- it simply is.  
Mortals cannot become gods. When one attempts to, the mortal is destroyed. The assumption of a mantle, an archetype, overcomes the simple role a mortal has in the universe. And though a god may affect what they knew before, that does not make them a mortal. Thus, gods are not compatible with mortality.  
Remember this, and remember that for all their power, gods are far more bound by any mortal. And remember well that this holds true whether you speak of a small village-god, or of the Source itself.  
When unlimited power is possessed, other chains must needs be forged._

Mendam the Binder, Seer-Lord of Magnus VIII, personal writings (recovered from the fires that claimed his residence and spread across the entire continent, sending Magnus VIII into an ecological depression from which it never recovered)

 **9:03 TST, 1st Lunar Month, 8th Day, Year 329**

 _ **X'halvram,**_ **Legate's Quarters**

"Thank you for agreeing to come and talk with me, ma'am."

"Ma'am?" the well-dressed - and yes, in Tamaranean that still means only slightly less exposed skin than a nudist convention - Tamaranean asks, hands folded around her mug of tea. Clothes aside, she looks composed, her face almost ageless with only a few faint wrinkles and a slightly darker shade of orange on her skin to point to her actual age. It's fitting, for the Chancellor of the Migrant Fleet's finest (only) institute of higher education.

I pause. "Right. Doesn't translate properly. My apologies."

"The Diplomat's Kiss is not perfect," she says with a shrug. "I assume it is a title of respect?"

"More or less," I say. "But we aren't here to discuss how your species fascinating biological translation method has cracks, right? We're here to talk about Greta."

"Where...is she, specifically?" she asks.

A moment…

"With two friends she's made- Beyd'rs and Kara'va. She's testing out the spell I taught her to let her fly in one of the parks," I answer. "If you want to speak with her, she promised to be home in twenty minutes."

She nods. "It would be helpful if I could meet her, yes. Tell me - " She pauses for a moment. "What _is_ your title, by the way?"

"You know, I've never actually asked," I say with a shrug. "My post is equivalent in some ways to a Captain, in other ways far lesser. 'Mage' would suit well, until I can clarify that with the King."

" _Mage_ Korol'krovic, then. Your daughter has had schooling on her home planet, yes?"

"Of course."

"I am sure your home culture is different from ours...could you describe what an average schooling would be like, among your own people?"

Great. More trying to sum up difficult concepts in short sentences.

"Primary schooling starts at a young age. Basic concepts- how to read and write properly, basic mathematics, later on culture, historical, and civics education. Students typically go to a public institution, paid for by the state, though some families pay for private schools in belief that those will have better instructors. They're sorted by age and those age groups are divided into large classes. Thirty or so at a time is the general average. Secondary education typically starts around early adolescence, still sorted into age groups. More difficult math, literary interpretation, more advanced historical classes overall, some basic science education. Advanced classes are usually available during late adolescence. After secondary education is finished, people can choose whether or not to go to a higher institution or not - typically if they do it's for advanced scientific education, to become a lawyer, or a physician, or any number of fields. There's also vocational training that typically ends up being an alternative to advanced education...usually in practical engineering."

"I...see."

"Is there a problem?"

"Education among the fleet is...quite different."

"I'm aware. It's mostly apprenticeships, hands-on learning, and home-schooling, yes?"

"Exactly so. Under that, I'd have to consider how skilled Greta is at your...magic."

I run things through in my head for a moment. "She can use basic spells and cantrips quite effectively. Spell circles and rituals, she knows a few of - I've had her create the ones I use for mass healing as practice - and she wants to heal with magic as her primary goal. For raw power, she has little - that's something that comes with age, experience, and bargains with higher entities, and she doesn't have much of any - but she's good enough to muster a basic defense or attack as needed."

"And in context, that means...what, exactly?"

"She won't be doing anything major or creating anything like I am, but she can close life-threatening wounds in seconds and she has a gift for speaking with nonsapient life and making herself understood. Her shield spells could likely take a few hits from most of your infantry-scale weapons before she exhausts herself, and the few offensive techniques I've taught her will stun, rattle, and _hurt_ , but won't be lethal. She's no battle-mage, but that's not what she wants to be."

The Chancellor nods. "And your end goals for her?"

"Most of my raw power comes from my nature. She is nearly as deeply bound to the Red as I am...but she has not made a bargain with the Parliament, and until we reach a planet I cannot even begin to puzzle out how she _would_ make one away from Earth. But with magic, knowledge is most certainly power. She'll be able to accomplish just as much as I can...perhaps not as quickly or as instinctually, but she'll still be a Red mage in full."

"Hmmm." Her expression is inscrutable. Damn it, I wish I was better at reading people. "And you are certain you want her to come to the College? We are an institution for teaching nobility to take command and work together, not one for the higher learning you described."

I nod. "I am. She wants to, and I believe it will be good for her."

"If that is the case, I know quite a few tutors that can help her get up to speed in any portions of her education she might be lacking in."

"You have my thanks. And what do you want in return?"

She smiles slightly. "Perhaps I am simply doing you a favor, Mage Korol'krovic."

"And favors are best returned swiftly, so I'll ask again: what do you want in return?"

Her expression returns to the normal, businesslike facade. "Are you willing to take additional students?"

 **10:08 TST**

 _ **Tothand'r**_ **, Secondary Gene Labs**

"Legate, why is there a floating ball of lightning on your desk?" Argen'tal asks carefully.

"Magic barometer," I answer, prodding the little ball of blue electricity with a finger. It flickers red before returning to blue.

"I hope that means a barometer for magic rather than a barometer that functions by magic…"

"Your hopes are vindicated, then," I say with a grin.

"Why are you using it now?" Argen'tal asks.

"You know what, it's easier to show you. Hold still."

It's simple to link a strand of magic to Argen'tal, simpler still to find the potential in his soul and open his Eye. Not fully - _never_ fully - but enough so he can see the simple structure of the spell, drawing in and containing magical energy and converting it to a simpler, mundane form.

Argen'tal's eyes widen and he takes a step back. He scrubs at his eyes, and then stops. "That's...is this what you see, all the time?" he asks softly.

"Yep."

"It's amazing...and…" His eyes narrow. "The spell. It's not working right. There's...not enough fuel."

I point a finger at him. "Precisely. Ambient magic here is much lower than on Earth. Much, _much_ lower. In fact, I was worried if your species would be able to use magic at all. You certainly lack the small resistance to it that every human on Earth does. But you can _see_ , can't you?"

"Yes," Argen'tal says, a little numbly.

"Good. That means I can teach, and know what I teach can be copied and repeated. Weaker, maybe, but it can still be done." I steeple my fingers, and turn in the swivel chair that's bolted in front of my lab desk. "Which means…" I pause, and look at Argen'tal, who's staring at me.

And shaking.

Shit.

"Argen'tal? Argen'tal, look at me. Look me in the eye, Argen'tal."

Argen'tal's gaze snaps up to meet my own, and his mouth drops open as he makes a choked noise.

I reach out, and slam the man's Eye shut fully, cutting off his view of my nature.

Argen'tal staggers back, one hand going to his forehead as the other grabs onto a counter for stability. He takes several heaving breaths, eyes flicking to me every few moments.

"You alright?" I ask carefully.

"What... _are you?_ "

"Red elemental, with a nice little bit of human to run the whole assemblage," I answer. "What did you see, Argen'tal?"

"A throne...a throne, and blood," he whispers. "So much blood. Oceans of it."

"Interesting. The last person to see that was a god, you know."

" _This does not help. What the hell are you?!"_

"I am a creature of blood and flesh and bone. Not just physically, but down to my soul. Did you think magic was something easy, understandable? _No._ It is power. And power changes you. It gives you the strength to make or break worlds...and yet it gets in deep and makes you something else than mortal. Something greater."

Argen'tal's eyes drop for a moment, not meeting my eye.

Then his head snaps up, green eyes blazing with an emotion that almost makes _me_ back up. Ambition. "Teach me."


	10. Chapter 10

**23:12 TST, 1st Lunar Month, 10th Day, Year 329**

 _ **X'halvram,**_ **Archives**

"Through her blood she gave life to those she had molded, and set them free. Through her were we given the blessings of _Uranand'r_ , the sun's light which strengthened the first of our people and gave them flight. Through her were we given the Diplomat's Kiss, so that none would have cause to harm another through misunderstanding. Through her were we giv-"

"Reading old legends again?"

I very deliberately don't look up from the screen displaying the ancient pieces of parchment. "Hello, Komand'r. Come to hear more legends of Earth?"

"More curious as to why you're looking into our own legends, Legate," she says, taking a seat across from me. "What is so fascinating about some ancient superstitions?"

"On Earth, those superstitions are quite real and tend to break a lot of things when they get annoyed."

"Hmph. Should I be worried about X'Hal descending from the stars, all fire and fury, to smite the unbelievers?" she asks with a smile, leaning back and folding her hands behind her head. "Or does that only happen on Earth?"  
"Given the sheer amount of other highly improbable things that happen on that planet, you knows? Honestly, I'm starting to wonder if the sheer quantity of magic there warps probability somehow. How else do you explain how aliens keep crashing into it and deciding to fight crime? I mean, hell, two Thanagarians, a Martian from a Zeta Tube accident, a bunch of Durlans, and that's just the ones I know about. Oh, and the famous 'Last Son of Krypton'," I add, making air quotes.

Komand'r seems frozen.

"...Komand'r? Are you-"

"You're saying there's a _Kryptonian_ on your home planet," she says flatly, leaning forwards intently.

"Three, technically. The first one got cloned a couple of times."

"A X'hal-damned Kryptonian?!"

"Yeeesss…" I say carefully. "Is there….some kind of problem with that?"

"Is there - _give me that,"_ she growls, practically snatching the tablet I've been reading off of out of my hands. Okay, now I'm honestly confused. What's so important about Krypton?

She shoves the tablet back into my hands, and I scan it quickly. Some ancient spire, blue crystal, Kryptonian origin- _twelve million years old?_ "Ah."

"Yeah, ah," she says, mimicking me. "Do you know what the Kryptonians were _like?_ Their technology is _still_ better than anything except maybe what those shriveled little blue gnomes on Oa hand out to their police force, and their ruins are _everywhere._ Planets and entire civilizations have risen and fallen because of their proximity to Kryptonian artifacts, and you're telling me _your planet has one._ When their race has been extinct for _twelve million years?"_ She leans very close to me, eyes challenging. "Is that seriously what you're claiming?" she asks.

"Not claiming," I reply calmly. "Stating. I've met the guy. And seen his home base. Same architecture as this thing," I add, gesturing to the display of the crystalline spires. "For the record, he's not millennia old. Crashed on our planet...call it thirty years ago, as a baby. I'm guessing it must've been a STL spacecraft if the timescale here is supposed to make any sense...either way, I've seen the thing-" -not really, but fuck it, metaknowledge still counts- "-and it looked more like an escape pod with delusions of grandeur than anything else. Anyway, baby-Kryptonian ends up secretly adopted by a childless local couple, helped by the fact they have an astonishing resemblance to humans...grows up, finds out the sun gives him a wide variety of powers due to the radiation it puts out, and naturally decides to adopt an alternate persona so he can fight crime."

"Fight...crime." Her tone is dubious.

"My planet is weird as hell."

"Clearly." She pauses for a moment, and then walks around the desk, taking the chair next to me. "I should have already guessed from what you've told me already. A _sane_ planet wouldn't have three Green Lanterns on it."

"Like I said. Magic and rationality probably don't mix all that well. It's why I'm investigating _your_ legends and mythos."

"Oh?"

How to put this delicately…

"Chancellor Sco'la has asked me to start trying to teach any of her students who show a spark of magical potential. And in relation to that, I may have slightly damaged the sanity of my research assistant."

"What did you do, Legate?" she asks, with an air of resignation.

"He got a look at what passes for my soul. Almost immediately after that, asked to be taught my magic. I told him I'd make sure I have a safe framework _first._ Hence, legends and mythos."

"I don't follow. At all. Some old scrolls and parchment are supposed to keep a magic user sane how?"

"Magic works off of conceptual links. Champions of gods, domains, life's blood, the power of words and bargains...all of it works because those concepts are deeply rooted in the human psyche. All of it works because our legends draw on the same sources, the same basic mindset, ingrained in our very nature. But Tamaraneans are different."

"It took you this long to realize this?" Komand'r asks, sarcasm dripping from every syllable.

"Hush. It's accurate. I'm trying to figure out exactly _how_. So I have to look back over what your people have done in the past, what mythologies you have, and make an entirely different set of invocations, spells, and principles, if I want anyone to be able to use magic effectively, because the right mindset is paramount to your manipulation of magic. And the lack of ambient magic makes it even harder!"

"Because your spells won't work as easily?"

"Worse. Because your souls can't take the strain as easily as humans. You've been...starved is probably the best way to put it. Which means there's going to be intense limits on what any Tamaranean mage can do, _and_ I'm going to have to work out even greater protections than usual for any major working just to keep my students from having their sanity permanently damaged." I bury my face in my hands. "Why the hell did I agree to do this?" I moan.

"Because you are so used to doing magic you forgot what the rest of us mortals would have to do?" Komand'r says lightly. "Do you really think us so weak?"

"Considering that I now have Argen'tal monitored to make sure he doesn't go full cultist, it's less of matter of thinking and more being properly paranoid. He seems fine, but I'm not risking that happening to children. So. I'm going to have to do things carefully. Build it piece by piece. Was considering meditation as a way to develop their senses," - Komand'r snorts - "but discarded _that_ after five minutes of research. You spend so much time _feeling_ I think it'd actually screw with your minds if you assumed the right mindset for human-style meditation. Now I'm thinking that I'm going to have to stick them in spell circles when I open their senses to magic so they can learn to deal with the input properly."

Komand'r narrows her eyes. "To filter out anything too dangerous? Including yourself?"

"Precisely."

"What makes _you_ of all things sanity-breaking?"

"Did you not see the abominations of nature I keep making in the labs? Or the fact that I eat the souls of my enemies?"

"Pssh." She flaps a hand at me. "You create strange things and inflict horrible torments on your enemies. There are hundreds of scientists and tyrants who can say the same."

"Those scientists and tyrants aren't me, and aren't magical. It's different."

"Prove it," she says shortly. "Show me what you think is so terrifying about you."

"Komand'r-"

"Show. Me. Consider it a _command_ , Magus."

Huh. Well, that clarifies the title.

"I'm stopping the instant I think I have to," I say. "Understand that."

"Fine."

Have to do this carefully...hmm.

Her soul is interesting. Argen'tal's was much weaker, barely more than a ghost, but hers...much stronger. Stronger than most humans. Than most _mages_. What's the source of this…

I pause, and laugh to myself in the privacy of my own mind and soul as I recognize the traces of power.

I poured so much power into her, small wonder some of it stuck around.

Careful, now. She might take it better than Argen'tal, with a stronger soul, but she's no mage. None of the training. None of the knowledge.

Coaxing her senses to reach out takes an eternity and yet takes no time at all. But since I'm focused on letting it happen, and keeping my own open...I can directly observe the effects as she takes a look at **me.**

It's...difficult to describe. The best way would be to picture a hand reaching out to touch something, except for the something to be uncomfortably hot. There's two options, from there: either the 'hand' flinches away and contact is broken, or the 'muscles' lock up and can't get away, even as the heat burns into the hand.

For people with power, though, whether because they're an elemental or a mage, it's as though the hand is covered by an asbestos glove. Fireproof. Safe. And the same is true for Komand'r, to my surprise.

It's with a slight amount of disappointment - seeing what happened next would be so interesting - that I push her senses back down, and close her Eye.

Komand'r blinks rapidly before sitting back in her chair. "By X'hal…"

"Let me guess: throne on a lake of blood?"

"What? No. I saw...I don't even know how to describe it. I need...paper. Give me something to write on."

I yank a notebook out of a back pocket and hand it and a pen to her. She snatches both and starts scribbling intently. After a few minutes, she sets the pen down, and turns the notebook so I can see.

An intricate, spiraling design made of tiny, angular figures covers both pages, and in the center of it all...the same sigil of fangs that is burned into my hands, with a few lines of the same angular letters in the very center of it. Some of the spiral's arms end on the pages - others vanish off the edges - and at the end of them...more characters. Ones I can _read_ , this time, because they're in Interlac script.

Names. Numbers. The former...stolen knowledge tells me they're Psion given-names, the latter Citadelian clone-decanting dates and tube labels.

"I…" She shakes her head, and the brief flicker of hesitancy in her expression vanishes as though it had never been. "I can read the figures. In the spirals. Most of them are nonsense...but I know the ones in the middle. It's Old Tamaranean."

"What does it say?"

"It says... _The King in Red Lives._ "

The notebook bursts into flames.

I slam a hand down on the fire, shifting my body so the hand covers the tiny booklet and smothers the flame entirely. The burns this causes vanish by the time I lift my hand back up.

Nothing's left of the book. Not even ash.

Komand'r meets my eye. There's no fear in her expression - I doubt she fears anything - but there's something else...fuck, I still can't put my finger on it. "This could be...problematic."


	11. Chapter 11

**12:11 TST, 1st Lunar Month, 13th Day, Year 329**

 _ **X'halvram**_ **, Training Course**

"Why...aren't you...running?" Greta pants, flat on her back.

I smile at my daughter. "Because I'm not the one who needs to be in very good shape for school. Remember, it's halfway to a military school. They _will_ expect you to know how to fight, little one." I offer her a bottle of water. "Pace yourself," I caution. She nods, drinking cautiously before recapping the bottle and getting to her feet.

"Still don't see why I have to sweat, Dad," she says, half a whine as she starts doing jumping jacks.

"Well, think about why I _don't._ You can stop while you do."

I can see the gears turning as Greta sits back down. I very pointedly don't smile, letting her work it out.

It's actually pretty obvious: when you have the ability to alter your own biology on a whim, barring some... _exceptional_ wounds, things like being in good shape are pretty darn easy. It hasn't given me a bodybuilder's physique, but between the extra foot in height I _somehow_ gained running through the Red and the accompanying muscle, I'm pretty sure I could fight a bear barehanded and win without resorting to anything more than human-level muscles. If I actually am in combat and change things up...well, the Citadelians are proof enough of what I can do _then_.

Greta might not have power to affect all that much beyond her body - but affecting her own is far simpler.

I see her eyes narrow before she takes a deep breath and assumes a lotus position. Her breathing slows, a steady, even rhythm.

Red light gathers in her soul, branches out, filling her veins and nerves. It is...different from the rest of her, already suffused with another shade of Red. A deeper color than her own, purer and more refined. It spreads through the structure of her body, and stays, pulsing faintly in time with her heartbeat, ebbing and flowing with her breathing.

I nod to myself as Greta gets back to her feet, moving a lot more fluidly than before. She bounces on the tips of her toes for a moment, before grinning. "Why didn't you tell me about this earlier?"

"Wanted to see if you figured it out for yourself."

"Isn't this kinda cheating? I mean, all the other kids will still have to work for it."

I lean down and poke her in the nose. "It's only cheating if you _lose_ , little one. Call it...inherent advantages. And since you figured it out now, we've still got a couple hours to kill before I have to go work."

"Don't you mean create more blasphemies against nature?"

"First, if the Red lets me do it it means it's approved by nature, and second, where did my own daughter learn all that sass?"

Greta smiles, all confidence and poise. Must've learned it from watching Koriand'r or something - she certainly didn't get it from me or Komand'r. "Pot, kettle."  
"You wound me. Right here, daughter of mine," I say dramatically, holding a hand over my heart. Greta giggles, her attempt at classiness vanishing. She hugs me for a moment before falling into step at my side.

There's silence for a moment as we walk out of the small gym, one of many on _X'halvram_. Greta shifts her clothing from exercise gear to jeans and a red hoodie, clothing almost exactly like what I'm wearing.

Screw Tamaranean fashion sensibilities, I'm happy with what I've got.

"So, what do you want to do?" I ask.

Greta looks down the corridor. There's a mural along one side, depicting...honestly, not sure, beyond the fact it has what are pretty clearly Tamaraneans in golden armor standing against black, spindly figures. Probably some dramatization of history. "I don't know yet...can we just look around for a bit? Go exploring?"

I nod. "Of course."

 **3:25 TST, 1st Lunar Month, 15th Day**

 _ **Tothand'r,**_ **Secondary Gene Labs**

"How do chalk lines focus the spell?" Argen'tal asks, examining the diagram he's drawn.

"They don't, at least not the way you're thinking. Again, it's all...context. Patterns of meaning."

"So that's why there's all those blank spots? You're not sure what meaning to give them?"

"Precisely. I _think_ if you used Ancient Tamaranean runes or something like that it'd have the right significance to you and set up the right meanings."

"I...don't know how to write Ancient Tamaranean."

"Then learn."

Argen'tal nods slowly, examining the rudimentary spell circle. "So if you had the right symbols...the circle contains the effect?"

"Exactly. Marks out the boundary."

"What happens if it breaks?"

"That depends on if you're trying to keep something in or out. In, if it's a creature or summoning it'll do very unpleasant things to you. If an effect you're trying to contain, it'll just sputter out. Keeping things _out..._ same as if you're messing around with a summoning."

Argen'tal nods, frowning. "This is going to be difficult."

"Nobody said inventing a new magic system for an entirely different culture was going to be easy. Honestly, if I wanted to make it easy for you, I'd just transform you into a Red elemental like me."

"And why haven't you?"

"Because I'm pretty sure it'd snap your mind like a dried twig and then I'd have to contain a threat that acts like a feral animal but has all of my bag of tricks along with it. And because even if it _didn't_ , anything you learned in your new state would be virtually useless to teach a _mortal_ mage. _And_ because I'm having a hard time fitting into the Fleet as it is, I don't need 'replaced all his research assistants with demons' on the list of PR problems."

Argen'tal gulps. "Noted."

"Right. So we'll leave this thing alone for the moment until you figure out the right runes."

"And I'll know…"

"Go with your gut. I'll be on hand when you try it out, if anything goes horribly wrong I can keep it from frying your soul."

Argen'tal stares down at the circle for a moment before nodding.

Someone knocks on the door to the lab. I turn, back, rolling up the sleeves of my (red, of course) lab coat. "Come in!"

The door hisses open, admitting two people. The first is Zhala'so, _Tothand'r's_ Captain. The components of her artificial limbs whirr softly as she takes a step to the side, letting the second figure, dressed in the grey short sleeves and shorts of Tamaranean military dress, step forward.

I bow to the silver-haired man. "Admiral Ph'yzzon. What can I do for you?"

The old Tamaranean chuckles. "Magus Korol'krovic, you assume I want something the moment I walk in the door?"

"You're one of the most militant members of the Council, not a technocrat, not a spy, and _definitely_ not a bureaucrat," I respond with a grin. "That means if you're here you're here to ask for something in person. Might just be progress, but I've already given my report to the Council. So yes, Admiral, I'll assume you want something, and if it is within my power, I will likely grant it."

"Likely?" Ph'yzzon asks, raising an eyebrow.

I shrug. "If you ask me to genocide random species I'd consider it dishonorable and downright evil. Everything else is pretty much open, given sufficient resources." I link my hands behind my back, and motion for Argen'tal to leave. He takes the hint, and heads into the specimen storage room.

"I...see. Well, you can rest easy, I had no intention of asking you to do...that," he says, an expression of distaste crossing his features. He pauses. Zhala'so slips out the door, closing it behind her and leaving the two of us alone in the lab.

"How do you feel about the Citadel?"

I grin, feral and cold. "Admiral. They threatened to vivisect my daughter, and two-thirds of the royal family. And I have the memories and mindsets of three hundred Psions and a few thousand Citadelians at my fingertips. I know _exactly_ what the Citadel is. Should I assume war is coming?"

Ph'yzzon smiles. "You offered to create some sort of creature for combat purposes when you first met the King. Consider that offer accepted."

I narrow my eye. "Should I assume that this is something the King doesn't quite need to know?"

Ph'yzzon glares at me. "You'd be wrong, Magus. The King _will_ be told. But I want you to have a framework in place, and viable, _controllable_ prototypes ready for a demonstration, by the next time the Council convenes."

I tilt my head slightly. "A week. I'll have to hold back some of my other work."

"Your creations, once instituted across the Fleet, have already promised to quadruple our protein stores for a third of the difficulty and cost our current animals have in being raised for slaughter. You've done enough to afford that long."

Back to making weapons, it seems. I grin. "Very well, Admiral. I'll have the first of them ready in a week."

"Good. Keep me informed."

The Admiral walks out. The moment the door closes behind him, I walk over to the specimen room and open the door. One of the sausage worms raises its head from the box it and its brethren are sleeping in, while Argen'tal gives me a curious glance.

"We need to get to _Tamaranagar_ ," I say shortly. "I have a _Ubastya Volaka_ to catch."


	12. Chapter 12

**2:32 TST, 1st Lunar Month, 18th Day**

 _ **Tamaranagar,**_ **Savannah Environment Section**

"What do you think?" I ask, petting my creation. The massive canid rumbles happily as I scratch him behind the ear, mouth hanging open and exposing fangs as big around as my fist.

Koriand'r smiles. "It's...cute," she says.

"And here I was, thinking you wanted to show us something terrifying," Komand'r deadpans. "Not this...giant fluff thing."

"The fluff's so it doesn't terrify everyone when I present it to the Council," I admit with a shrug. "He'll be spattered in Citadelian blood when he goes into combat anyway, but for the rest of the time...well, he's a big softy."

As if to punctuate my words, the immense creature flops onto its belly, before staring at Komand'r with all six eyes gleaming with hope. She stares back, then sighs, and starts petting it as well. The creature's tail, a lengthy thing studded with bone plating and spikes, thumps on the ground happily. Koriand'r laughs, and Komand'r glares at her. "It's adorable. Don't you dare suggest I'm doing anything out of place," she growls. She looks back at me. "Have you named him?"

"Yes."

Her eyes narrow. "Is it an entirely irreverent name for a creature that, judging from the sheer amount of armor I can see under its fur, can walk through plasma fire like light rain?"

"Well, that depends on your opinion on 'Mr. Snuggles'," I deadpan.

Mr. Snuggles' ears prick up as he hears his name. Both the sisters just laugh.

"Only you would take a noble predator and make it both far deadlier and far cuter," Komand'r says with a sigh.

"It's actually pretty easy. Tamaran must've been some kind of terror planet, because half the genes for the armor and the enhanced muscles were already there. It must've been a thing to behold…"

Both of them are quiet for a moment. Then the sisters share one of those looks that, despite being utterly silent, still communicates volumes. Komand'r huffs and folds her arms, prompting Mr. Snuggles to nudge her with his muzzle in hopes of getting more petting. I oblige, waiting for either of them to speak.

"I'd say you don't have a political bone in your body, but that's not right at all," Komand'r says slowly. "You certainly had an idea of what people would think after I snatched you up, after all," she adds with a small smile. "And every time someone has tried to bring it up, you've managed to deflect it carefully without denying it entirely. You know there's still a sizeable faction of Captains that thinks we engage in nightly debauchery because of that, right?"

I think you could fry eggs on my face, just judging from the heat I'm feeling. "You'd think your politicians would have more important things to worry about than who's fucking who," I say with a slightly forced smile.

"See? You keep doing that. So you know how to manipulate perceptions, which means you know _how_ people perceive things. Which means you should know exactly why Admiral Ph'yzzon was asking you to make...Mr. Snuggles."

"Doing an end-run around our brother, in case you haven't figured it out," Koriand'r says. "There's always one who wants to test a new King's power and will." She leans in. "So, Legate, why'd you go to the trouble of making him, acting like you're perfectly willing to take the Admiral's request at face value...and then invite the King's sisters and heirs to see the fruits of your labors anyway? What message are you trying to send?"

I look at both of them, Komand'r as she idly hooks her fingers around a bone spur on Mr. Snuggles' jaw and scratches, Koriand'r as she stands there, waiting for my answer.

I clear my throat. "Who says I have to be trying to send one?" I ask. "Maybe I just thought it'd be a nice idea to show something I've made to people I like."

Koriand'r looks at me. Then she looks at Komand'r. The smile she makes, though perfectly happy, makes me worry for some reason. "Ohh...you know, I should have known," she says. "Next thing I know, you'll be surprising her with a tamed _dra'kon_ to ride on her arm."

"I…that's not..." Isn't it?

Komand'r smiles. "Well, for all your faults, I knew there had to be a reason I liked you. You might be a fool, but you have good taste."

I bow halfway. "I am glad the Princess does not find me wanting," I say, trying to keep my voice steady.

"Oh, I didn't say anything about you leaving the Princess _wanting_ ," she says quietly, with a predatory smirk."

"Okay, quick question: this is you flirting with me, right?" I ask.

Koriand'r facepalms. Komand'r glares at me, and starts walking closer.

"What do I have to do to get it through your head? Dance the _sa'sara_ naked in front of you? Yes, I'm flirting with you, my knight in bloody armor. By X'hal's left tit, how did you not figure this out earlier? _I literally flew off with you in my arms!"_

I rub the back of my neck, smiling nervously. "I'm...really not as good with people as you think I am? And I've never been involved with romance before..."

"Koriand'r?"

"Yes, sister?"

"Could you give me a moment?"

"Of course. Come on, Mr. Snuggles."

The canine follows Koriand'r as she hovers away. I'm almost regretting designing his brain to instinctually obey Tamaraneans. Almost, as Komand'r steps forwards, grabbing the collar of my shirt with one hand. "Since you seem to have so much trouble understanding feelings, let me show you," she growls, leaning in closer.

The world stops.

It continues stopping for quite some time.

 **8:21 TST, 1st Lunar Month, 18th Day**

 _ **X'halvram,**_ **The Royal Chambers**

"Magus," Ryand'r says warmly.

I bow deeply. "My King. Thank you for letting me in."

"Thank you for exercising superior judgement and bringing your actions to my attention. I don't disapprove of Admiral Ph'yzzon's request in principle, but that he thought it better to wait until he could present a fait accompli..." He shakes his head, sighing. "I wish I could tell if this was a power play, or distrust in my ability to reach decisions without being firmly guided. Either way, it's unacceptable, and I've made it clear that I won't be so forgiving the next time he tries to leave me out of the loop."  
He puts aside his discomfort to refocus on me. I cock my head. "Glad to hear it. Also glad to hear I get to keep Mr. Snuggles."

"Why on earth did you name it that?"

"Because it annoys all the aggravating people who think a ton-heavy canine should be named something excessively ominous. Anyone who fights them is going to be too busy dying horribly to complain about the name, anyway, and I don't think I can say something like 'Doomlord the Tremendous' with a straight face," I say. "So why not give it something that'll make people underestimate it?"

Ryand'r snickers, just a little, so quickly I almost don't catch it.

"So, show me what you have created," he says.

"Right. May I borrow your holoprojector?"

He nods, and I pull out a tablet, connecting the portable computer to the round device recessed into Ryand'r's desk. The first image to appear is that of Mr. Snuggles, rendered down in scale but in living color. "I based Mr. Snuggles off of the _Ubastya Volaka_. He, and any kin I create, are pack predators, intensely loyal to Tamaraneans thanks to some nifty pheromone controls, can hit almost four hundred kilometers an hour on a level surface, possess enough armor and redundancy to bull through anti-tank weaponry, and can tear infantry apart with ease. Their diet chiefly consists of meat, though they are very much not picky about _where_ it comes from, and can utilize what they eat with extreme efficiency. I've neutered the original, but that can be undone easily in any future creatures, and if so they'll birth fairly large litters, eight to a dozen, that grow to adulthood in a few weeks naturally and instantly if I intervene myself. You could drop a pack on a battlefield, leave them there with little worry, or deploy them as auxiliaries. They also can survive a wide range of climates and move almost silently on almost any terrain. Finally, they're intelligent enough to be trained and instinctively follow Tamaranean military officers...with the highest authority in their minds being you, and your sisters."

"Not yourself?" Ryand'r asks.

I shake my head. "I don't need them. They're here to bolster _your_ manpower."

"Very well. What others are there?"

"Two further designs. I'm still working out the kinks on both of them, and they're more specialized. One for infiltration and stealth, the other for engaging armored vehicles."

Ryand'r steeples his fingers. "I see. Will you require further space on _Tamaran'agar?_ More samples?"

"If I could clear out a cargo hold on _X'halvram_ , that'd be best," I say. "They're hardy animals, and I don't want to risk them getting out and disrupting the natural balance of the ecologies there."

He nods. "And the samples?"

"Already got what I needed from a wide variety of species, just finding the right balance is difficult," I respond.

"Good. Consider it done, I'll make the necessary arrangements. Thank you for your service. You can go."

I nod, and turn to go.

"Oh, and Legate?"

I look back over my shoulder as Ryand'r stares me down.

"I say this, not as your King, but as a brother. If you hurt my sister, I _will_ space you."

I grin. "You'd have to beat Komand'r _and_ Koriand'r to it, you know."

"That is true, isn't it?" He smiles softly. "Good luck, Legate. I'm happy for both of you."


	13. Chapter 13

**6:12 TST, 1st Lunar Month, 21st Day**

 _ **X'halvram**_ **, College of Nobles**

Flight was _amazing._

Dad had taught her a spell- okay, no, he'd taught her three. One that was kinda tiring, but gave her the same flight as everyone else, and two others that gave her different types of wings and were a lot easier to use. Anyway, Dad had taught her how to fly.

She couldn't see how anyone else didn't want to spend hours on end flying. But everyone else seemed to consider it...normal. Boring, almost.

Well, screw them, flying was great. It took all her self-control to stay with the others and not go hurtling out across the small green space that surrounded the building, just for the thrill of it.

The College was different from the rest of the ship. _X'halvram_ was a huge ship, or at least that's what she'd been told. Huger than some space stations (Dad had actually called it 'an island with engines and an attitude' when she'd asked exactly how big it was) and definitely larger than even Challenger Mountain back home (she missed home a little, but she knew Dad would find a way back). The ship was so big, it wasn't just corridors and barracks and small spaces like she figured ships should be. It had a lot of those, yes, but it also had parks, and wide-open spaces, and normal buildings...well, sorta normal. Buildings on Earth didn't have their entrances right at the top normally...or on the sides with little balconies.

Oh, well. She supposed being able to fly everywhere changed some things.

The College itself was...not old. It simply didn't have that feel she associated with old things. The Mountain had been old, she could tell that just from the bones of the place. The College _looked_ old, it was made of stone and wood...but its bones weren't old. They were gleaming metal and things she didn't know the words for, like the rest of the ship. A quick peek into the Unseen confirmed that much for her.

Greta was actually a little surprised by that. Why build something to look old at all? Wasn't the whole point of new things: that they looked new? It wasn't as though everyone else could look into the Unseen like she did and _know_ things weren't as old as they pretended to be.

Hmph. Maybe it was meant to look old because they didn't have any actually old things.

Well, that wasn't quite true.

They had the Keystone, which she'd called because it had held the center of the Unseen here together, burning brightly when she'd seen it as she'd let her spirit slip free of her body and wander the faint webs of magic and light along the ship. _That_ was old...old, and it had power, like she'd never seen before. Not even in Dad, though he was like a sun in a world of fireflies in comparison to everyone else…

She recognized that her thoughts were wandering, and took a breath as she- and the others in her new class- entered the building as a group.

Calm. Centered. Aware. This was no time to get a reputation as a space cadet.

She was at the back of her group now- a conscious decision, she knew the little formalities that would be going into this first meeting, she'd been coached on them- and so she took a moment to smooth the front of the semi-formal clothing she'd been told to wear. The robes were looser than clothing she'd usually prefer. It had taken her a while to realize exactly _why_ pretty much all 'high class' Tamaranean clothing was kind of...light, and even though she knew it was because of their powers and biology it still took a lot of effort (and some discreet internal manipulation of blood vessels) to keep from blushing a little.

The Tamaraneans might've been okay with it, but she certainly wasn't.

Everything was in order, and the rest of the group was slipping into the room. She followed.

The other students took their seats, but she remained at the front of the class, standing. As the teacher began to introduce her to the others, Greta took in the looks she was receiving from her new classmates.

The room was different from the classrooms she was used to. Everyone had their own chairs - comfortable-looking ones - arrayed in little clumps around round desks with the familiar bevels of holoprojectors in the center. It was almost designed to encourage small groups and cliques. She could practically smell the wariness, like rival packs of wolves eyeing each other. They were eyeing her, too. More than they were each other, at the moment. She was new, after all.

Once the teacher- a grey-haired woman with crow's feet and a cybernetic right leg- finished introducing her as Greta of the House of Korol'krovic, Greta bowed. "Thank you for allowing me to join you," she said, in the clearest voice she could muster. "I hope we can learn a lot from each other."

She was glad Dad had helped her learn Tamaranean properly, no kissing necessary. Seriously, how did _that_ become a thing? Did Tamaranean diplomats go around mashing faces with whatever freaky alien crossed their path?

She bit the inside of her cheek to avoid giggling at that mental image, and looked over the classroom as the teacher told them to get to know one another.

Silly. She was the only new person- boundary lines for everyone else had already been drawn. Still, she looked over the groups. Most of the seats had been filled around the desks already- there were only two real places for her to sit. Two groups.

The first, she already recognized- not their names or their ranks, but their attitudes and appearance. Their clothes, though technically the same robes she wore, were better-quality, and the group (all girls) sat taller in their seats, projecting confidence.

She was fairly sure they were what she'd heard called 'alpha bitches'. Yeah, she was not naive enough to stick a hand into that bear trap.

That left the other group.

Four in number.

Two whose robes were...not shabby, but definitely second-hand. Both of them, a guy and a girl, looked nervous, stooped shoulders, trying not to be seen. She sympathized. Another girl was tall and thin, painfully plain, but with sharp eyes. The last, black-haired and lanky, leaned back in his chair as though it was the only thing holding him upright, fingers toying with a stylus, flipping it end over end across the backs of his knuckles.

Well, that was an easy choice. She walked over to the second group, and sat down between one of the shabbily-dressed students and the thin girl. She smiled at them. "Hello. You know who I am, I guess, but I don't know you."

"Sin'sa, of the House of Sil'ney," the plain girl said quietly.

"Naran, House Priz'rak," the black-haired boy said, suddenly leaning forward and fixing Greta with a grey-eyed gaze.

"Raist'la," the shabbily-dressed girl says quietly. "This is my brother, Cara'mon. We...don't have a House. Got in on a scholarship."

"You say that like it's a bad thing," Greta said.

"We're orphans."

"Again, not bad. I was one, too."

"Wait, what?" Sin'sa said. "But your father-"

"Adopted. Do I _look_ like I'm going to be seven feet tall when I grow up?" she replied with a smile.

"Nah, more like a midget," Naran drawled. "Was wondering, myself," he added.

"So what are you going to do?" Cara'mon asked. "Magic?"

"I heard he was taking students," Raist'la mused. "Maybe we'll be in the same classes together!"

Greta shook her head. "Different kind of magic. I'm...not going to be learning the same things you are. Dad says they'd be incompatible, and maybe dangerous."

"Like trying to use the wrong kind of circuit in wiring, right?" Naran asked.

"I...suppose?" She shrugged- engineering wasn't her expertise.

"But you still know how to do things, right?" Sin'sa asked.

Greta nodded, not sure where the thin girl was going.

"Could you show us something?"

Greta glanced up towards where the teacher was. The woman was busy reading something on a tablet, not paying much attention to the class.

So she nodded. "Alright. Watch closely."

She bit the pad of her thumb, suppressing the urge to wince at the familiar pain (it'd be gone in a second) and let a single drop of her blood fall onto the surface of the desk. Everyone stared at it as Greta took a deep breath and focused, gathering her power.

Controlled. Calm. Centered.

She forced power into the drop of blood, causing it to vibrate softly, and bent it to her wishes, urging it to become something _greater._

There was a soft popping noise as a tiny sculpture, of a wolflike creature, replaced the drop of blood, and Greta let out a breath, refusing to show her sudden exhaustion.

"...Interesting," Naran said softly, over steepled fingers.

"More than interesting, don't try that act with me, Naran," Sin'sa said, staring at the little sculpture, barely longer than her pinky, with the intensity of a thousand suns. Raist'la was doing the same thing, albeit a little less obviously.

"What act?"

"The 'I'm cold as asteroid ice, completely unflappable' act. It clearly doesn't work on Greta and it _never_ worked on me."

Greta would've laughed at the byplay, but before she could, she saw- _felt-_ every magical instinct in her body simultaneously scream. The force of it hit her between the temples, and she gasped, falling back into her chair.

"Greta, are you-"

Focus. Calm. Centered. Controlled. "Something's-"

 _X'halvram_ screamed.


	14. Chapter 14

**6:23 TST, 1st Lunar Month, 21st Day  
** _ **X'halvram**_ **, Cargo Bay 331-Delta**

The warehouse I'd been given was a large, open structure that I'd wasted little time in setting up in. Metal-walled pens lined one side of the room, and folding tables made a little circle in the center, but compared to the empty space it was tiny.

It was also, at the moment, in utter chaos.

I'd managed to snag enough biological samples from _Tothand'r_ to work with before the Migrant Fleet had gone to FTL (and thus prevented me from traveling between ships). The end result? A dozen full-grown members of the species I'm just going to call Hounds, panicking the moment the _entire damn ship_ rang like a bell and a wave of _something_ slammed into my magical awareness like a semi-truck hitting a grandma crossing the road.

And when a species larger than an steroid-abusing grizzly bear panics, things go to shit in a hurry.

One of the largest Hounds is howling, claws tearing at the door to its pen. Others are slamming into the walls, or running in blind panic.

I spit out something in my mouth - not at all surprised to see blood splattering on the metal flooring - and struggle back up to my feet. "CALM THE FUCK DOWN!"

Silence reigns. The headache that's settled in behind my right eye becomes slightly less horrible.

"Good."

The comlink at my hip buzzes. I snatch the device up. "What."

" _Legate?"_ Ryand'r says. " _Something just knocked us out of FTL."_

"And? I'm a mage, not an engineer."

" _They did it by impacting the primary gravitic drives. Without so much as touching anything else. The section's been evacuated, but scanners are picking up something living present."_

"Our attackers?" I ask, turning part of my mind inward, strengthening myself.

" _It's likely. Rendezvous with Komand'r and Koriand'r- directions are being transferred to your A.R.L. Deal with them."_

I nod, even though there's no way for Ryand'r to see it. "Understood, my King." I walk over to the folding tables in the center of the warehouse, picking up a lens that looks like the left half of a pair of spectacles and putting it on. The Augmented Reality Lens boots up, and my vision briefly flares red before a barely-visible line cuts through the air. Directions. I pause a moment to reach under the tables and pull out a metal case with a bulky carrying handle. Just in case.

Going to have to move fast - the cargo bays are relatively close to the engines, but _X'halvram_ is huge. And if whatever just hit the ship is hostile, there's a lot of people in the way.

Greta's safe, for now, I already know that. Shaken, but still fine.

A thought, and the doors of the pens slide open. The Hounds within walk out cautiously, eyeing me. "Find her. Guard and protect," I order.

The Hounds, save for Mr. Snuggles, run. They know Greta's scent, they'll keep her safe. I glare at the remaining Hound. Mr. Snuggles glares back, and barks.

"I knew I made you too damn smart," I mutter, walking through the opened warehouse doors. The guiding line turns to the left. "Try to keep up."

It's amazing what you can do if you've got a perfect understanding of your own biology and the ability to modify it on the fly. For instance: superhumanly dense musculature and bone, coupled with enhanced reflexes, allows me to run at speeds that exceed a car on the highway. _X'halvram's_ corridors don't _blur_ past so much as _vanish_ from vision entirely.

The path of light vanishes, and I slam on the brakes, coming to a complete halt in the room I've been directed towards - looks like the entrance to an airlock or something.

It takes me a moment to wrench my foot out of the deck. Mr. Snuggles makes a sound that might be a laugh.

Note to self: deceleration is important.

"Legate!"

Komand'r and Koriand'r fly down a side corridor, a squad of Tamaranean marines trailing behind them.

The soldiers are loaded for bear, toting blocky weapons with barrels the width of my head. Plasma projectors and rail shotguns. Nasty stuff, _especially_ in the narrow confines of a ship. Their armor is equally nasty, heavy gear that turns the marines into little more than anonymous robots. The princesses' gear, by contrast, is lighter and more organic-looking, glowing at the joints and under the armor plates with soft, purplish light. UV projectors: for when your powers run off the sun and you still want to be fully armored. Neither of them carry weapons - but then again, they don't need them.

I nod. "Komand'r. Koriand'r. You ready?"

"You're bleeding," Komand'r announces flatly. I touch a hand to the corner of my mouth, and it comes away red. Must've bitten my cheek or something...with the pounding headache I've got, I must not have noticed the pain.

"I'll be fine," I say shortly. "Let's get this over with." I glance at the door. "Airlock?"

"Yes," Koriand'r confirms, floating higher. "Sister, you and I will provide support from above. Legate, you and your beast should draw their fire. Men, you know what to do."

Komand'r gives the case I'm carrying a glance, before flying up to join her younger sister. Heh. Hadn't expected Starfire to be that much of a leader, but if she can give orders without Komand'r objecting...interesting.

I press a button on the side of the case's handle. The case splits apart, spring-loaded pieces of metal unfolding and snapping together until I'm holding a halberd, or what a halberd would look like if the axe blade was instead two slats of metal.

"A pointy stick? That supposed to work on armored troops?" one of the marines asks sarcastically.

I crack my neck, and pull at the bundle of flexible tissue that fills the center of the weapon's hollow shaft. It grows at my urging, sending traceries of red veins along the shaft, and pouring out between the two slats to form a wickedly curved axe blade. "Yes," I answer flatly.

The airlock door hisses open. Its opposite number has a small window, but any view is obscured by...golden light?

"Do breached warp drives glow gold?" I ask carefully, drawing on the strength of my weapon as a magical focus.

"No," Komand'r responds, eyes and hair beginning to glow amethyst. "No they do not."

"Right. This is going to be a problem," I grit out as the light sets my headache pounding again. The airlock door closes behind our group. "Whatever's in there is something seriously strong, then. It's giving me a _headache_ , and the last thing that did that was a Lord of Chaos."

"The physical embodiment of randomness and entropy?" Komand'r inquires. I nod. She grits her teeth. "Then I fear you are correct."

A light set into the door in front of us turns green, and the door hisses open, letting golden light spill forth.

I'm the first one to speak as our group fans out, everyone staring at what's floating in the center of the room.

"Alright, the universe is clearly determined to fuck with us. Everyone else agree?"

"Agreed, Magus," Koriand'r says faintly.

"Unfortunately, yes," Komand'r adds.

"Yep," the marines chorus.

Mr. Snuggles whines.

The warp drives - a pair of massive cylindrical devices - have been reduced to slag. Floating between them is a glowing golden figure, three times the height of the man. It's... _technically_ humanoid. Two arms, two legs, a head and recognizable torso.

But humans don't have two thumbs to go along with four fingers on each hand. They don't have an extra joint to their arms. They don't have seven eyes set in a head shaped like a boomerang.

And they _certainly_ don't have a profusion of feathered wings. Seven pairs. One on the ankle, two protruding directly from the shoulders, and four more, the largest, on its spindly back.

The…(don't say angel, don't say angel)...thing turns its head to look at me, and

 _PAIN_

rips through my skull. I drop to one knee, clutching my head and dropping my weapon in the process.

There's shouting.

The sounds of weapons being fired.

The high-pitched crackling sound of plasma discharge.

Bestial roaring.

 **[** **אל פחד** **.]**

The angel's hands touch my temples.

A silent nova blossoms in my head.


	15. Chapter 15

**6:33 TST, 1st Lunar Month, 21st Day  
** _ **X'halvram**_ **, Main Warp Drives**

Koriand'r had never seen Legate show pain.

They had sparred, before. Her and her sister against Legate, or the three of them against simulated enemies.

It was because of him that she knew the starbolts she threw could tear limbs off and leave fourth-degree burns on Tamaraneans, who were tougher than most races, and even cause severe injury to his combat form is used properly. He'd shrugged off the injuries, healing them in an instant. He'd been impaled, pummeled, vaporized, eviscerated...and none of it had caused so much as a peep. If anything, it made him hit harder.

His screams as the creature looked at him froze her. For one moment, she was back _there_ , under Psion knives.

The next, her starbolts were flinging themselves towards the alien thing, accompanied by her sister's, and the marines were opening fire in a hail of plasma and accelerated metal.

"You _will not hurt him!"_ she shouted.

It happened between one blink and the next.

In one, a wave of destructive force stood poised to blot the creature from existence.

The next, it was gone, and a golden glow surrounded her. She couldn't move a muscle. She saw, out of the corner of her eye, that everyone else was equally frozen. Helpless, as the creature reached out to Legate.

 **[** **កុំ ខ្លាច។** **.]**

Legate slumped as golden light flared between the creature's hands, engulfing his head. Koriand'r couldn't make a sound. Couldn't do a thing to save him.

The light dimmed. Legate fell forwards with a dull thud.

Something... _shifted_ in the creature's hands. It hurt her eyes to even look at it, but she could not close them. The shape, a writhing shadow, stabilized into the cold and primeval form of a spear...

There was another flare of golden light, and the shadow was gone.

"Guh."

Legate twitched, then suddenly _flowed_ upright, red light blazing in his eye. Blood-colored light clashed against the gold, overwhelming it, and Koriand'r nearly landed face-first on the floor as the force holding her in place vanished. She turned her fall into flight, launching herself at the creature with starbolts blazing in her hands.

"Halt."

Legate spoke softly, but the sheer incongruity of the demand - coming from the one the creature had hurt _most_ \- made her stop. She looked behind her, seeing Komand'r visibly fuming and the marines waiting with wariness, while...Mr. Snuggles...was simply sitting back on his haunches?

Legate looked up at the creature, eye burning like a sun. "What is your name, child of the white flame?"

The creature cocked its head.

 **[BOB.]**

There was a thunderclap, and the creature vanished. Legate gaped.

 **7:31 TST**

 _ **X'halvram,**_ **Royal Briefing Room**

Ordinarily, ships who did not know each other's locations could not communicate. Inter-system communications in developed systems were based on a network of quantum-entangled relays. Without knowing _which_ system to send things to, that network could not be accessed at all - a security measure to keep the relays from being saturated with broad-spectrum spam. The relays themselves were completely untappable, not because of any detailed encryption protocols but because attempts to actually _interfere_ with transmissions disrupted the delicate balance of quantum effects that let them function - and, in the process, usually destroyed the relay's functionality as well.

Theoretically, one could build a relay of their own, but in practice, most vessels were too small to host the devices and their power supply, or at least not enough of them to be practical.

 _X'halvram_ , though, was immense, and powerful enough to maintain a network of those relays that led to each of the Council member's flagships...as well as a larger, more rarely used network that allowed it to coordinate the entirety of the Royal Fleet her brother directly commanded, all one thousand, eight hundred, and thirteen vessels.

In practice, those relays meant that situations like the one unfolding before her eyes were fairly common.

Namely, the Council being intractable.

" _-is a disaster of the highest order,"_ Admiral Cul'vin of the Ranged Fleet was saying, scarred face impassive. " _We can_ communicate _, but with your warp engines destroyed there is no way for you to determine your position and rendezvous with the Fleet. And Legate claims some Earthly superstition is responsible for this?"_

" _Where_ is _Legate?"_ Admiral Hil'poth of the Exploratory Fleet asked, circuit-laced eyes hidden by the hood she wore almost continuously. " _I would have expected him to be present."_

"I ordered him to see to his daughter and...collect himself, after he explained what had happened," her brother said, leaning forward in his chair. "And he did _not_ claim that it was some 'Earthly superstition'. Which you would know, if you had actually read his report."

Cul'vin almost flinched, and the other four military Admirals, Ph'yzzon included, straightened at her brother's tone.

"It does not matter whether or not Legate's information is correct, or what he believes it to be a sign of. What _does_ matter is what, exactly, happened."

" _Our flagship and our royal family being yanked out of faster-than-light travel with ease?"_ Ph'yzzon noted sourly.

"That...and not a single person being hurt in the process. Even those manning the drive when the…'angel' manifested were _completely unharmed._ Shrapnel missed all of them, even those closest to the drive. The ship _shook_ , and yet nobody fell, or sustained so much as a scratch. Not. One."

" _You think the creature-"_ Admiral Ver'lon of the Vanguard began, before cutting himself as Ryand'r raised a hand.

"Not think. Know. Copies of _X'halvram's_ sensor scans are being sent to your screens now. Take a close look at what's on the third planet."

There was silence as the various holograms of the Admirals froze, none of the people behind them wanting to give away reactions and so leaving their representations to hold still while they thought. And probably had a few minor existential breakdowns, Koriand'r thought, remembering Legate's own reaction.

He'd barely said a word beyond telling Ryand'r what had happened. Whatever the angel had done to him, however he'd gotten back up, he hadn't explained, but she'd seen the look on his face as he left to go find his daughter.

Even with the angel gone, Legate was still _afraid._

Life returned to the holograms as their owners turned back to the meeting. None of them looked happy.

" _This is...intriguing,"_ Shiva'hem of the Engineering Fleet said, mechanical fingers steepled. " _The odds against_ any _of the synthetic elements necessary for the construction of warp drives occurring naturally on a planet are….ludicrously high. To have them in useful concentrations even more so. There is a_ reason _that those outcroppings are there."_

" _Nobody is hurt, and despite the sheer improbability the system where your warp drive deposits you hosts a planet rich in the very thing you need to repair your vessel...this is not a coincidence,"_ Admiral Kom of the Shadow Fleet said, pale face expressionless. " _We are being manipulated."_

" _To what purpose, it must be asked?"_ Admiral Sooson of the Hunting Fleet said.

" _Is it not obvious?"_ Kom replied. " _It wanted Legate. And it wanted to do...whatever it did, without raising too much ire. I would bet good credits to false that if anyone had been harmed, he would be attempting to find and destroy his own species' heaven at this very moment."_ The Admiral's gaze flicked to Komand'r, who had for once remained silent during the entire meeting. " _It is...intelligent, if one wants to bargain, to not enrage the person you are attempting to strike a deal with."_

" _If Legate was indeed the target...why? And will there be further attempts?"_ Niki'tin of the Merchant Fleet asked. " _What other powers are taking an interest in him? And can we afford to host him, if those powers are those without our best interests in mind?"_

" _Given how we've been able to double our protein yields with only partial adoption of his creations, I would say yes,"_ Jonsno of the Living Fleet responded. " _My King..._ is _something like this going to happen again?"_

Ryand'r shook his head. "From Legate's own testimony, there is nothing that both wishes him harm and is capable of finding him. These...angels...were an utter shock to all of us. But he believes that none of them will return." He nodded to Kom. "And if some greater power is moving us into place...I dislike being manipulated, having us be used as a pawn in a greater game, but that appears to be our lot. And somehow, I doubt that Legate is the only person of concern in this game."

" _We have a war with the Citadel looming, my liege. We cannot waste time with you away on some unknown world,"_ Ph'yzzon said cautiously.

"I have no intention of doing so. _X'halvram_ will dispatch an away team to harvest the needed materials, we will make repairs, and we will rendezvous with the rest of the Fleet in the best time we can make. That is all. This Council is concluded."

The holograms flickered off, and Ryand'r sagged in his chair, letting out a deep sigh. Koriand'r put a hand on his shoulder. "You did well," she said softly.

"Maybe," he said. He looked to Komand'r. "Komy. You've been quiet. What is wrong?"

Her sister grit her teeth, her hands on the table knotting into fists, before she visibly forced herself to relax. "This. This whole...situation. I can't put my finger on it, but I guarantee that whatever we find on that planet, it won't just be the raw materials we need."

Koriand'r chuckled. "No need to be so dramatic, dear sister. Whatever comes our way, we can beat. It's not as though the planet's going to be filled with more of Legate's angels."

Komand'r snorted. "Fine. But I want a spot on the away team."

"Granted," Ryand'r said. "But...stay safe. I'm inclined to trust that hunch of yours."

And that was that.

 **12:21 TST**

 _ **X'halvram**_ **, Legate's Quarters**

"So…" she began.

"So," Legate echoed morosely, hands wrapped around a steaming cup of coffee.

"Angels."

"Angels." He threw back the cup, draining it in seconds. "Right. I've told you the basics- messengers or agents of what my people called God. Creator of the universe, all-powerful, all-loving, all that jazz. Thing is...no description could ever really agree on what they looked like. Sometimes, you got winged humans. Other times, you got...Bob. Either way, one showing up was a big deal."

"That, I gathered," she said. She looked him in the eye. "Legate. What did it _do_ to you? You've been flinching at shadows for hours."

Legate looked down at the table. "Thought Komand'r was gonna do this part," he muttered.

"My sister is seeing to herself and grappling with the fact that her lover, from what she knows, very nearly died. And you haven't bothered to explain whether or not that's what even happened. So, if you won't tell _her_ , tell me."

Legate glared at her, eye burning. "It has _only been a few hours, princess,"_ he growled. "Give me some time to figure it out, and stop prodding me."

"That isn't an answer to my question."

"Fine. It...it healed me."

She gaped. "You... _how is that even something to worry about?_ And what could it heal you of? Your only injury-"

"My missing eye. The only thing I can't heal. _Still_ can't. A wound inflicted by an ancient and dangerous weapon. And the scars it left bled in the angel's presence, for it and that weapon had a kinship of sorts. The first, an agent of God...the second, gained its properties by being bathed in the blood of the selfsame God's mortal shell. It...helped. Removed the last traces of the wound's...deeper effects. And as it did...I saw into its mind, or what passed for it, at least a little." He laughed. "It...loves us. Completely, utterly, without reservation. Every vagrant, every beggar, every psychopath and murderer and damned soul on this realm and all the others, it loves, every single person in the universe from the most innocent and pure to the most gleefully vile. And it would scour us all from Creation if need be, because it loves us. It would do so without hesitation, without pity, without remorse. And it would love us still as it killed us all. And I knew that for all my power, for everything I have sacrificed to _gain_ that power...it would amount to nothing in the face of that perfect, selfless, uncaring, indiscriminate love. That is what it did, Princess. _That_ is what I fear." He smiled, his face calm and still. "I haven't told Greta, because I couldn't bear to crush her spirit, her belief that love is pure and _good_. I haven't told Komand'r, because she would rage against such an injustice, and never succeed in righting it. And I never will. Will you?"

"No," she said, voice barely above a whisper.

"Then that's that."


	16. Chapter 16

**16:22 TST, 1st Lunar Month, 23rd Day**

 _ **X'halvram,**_ **Airlock 001B**

"I still can't believe you don't need an excursion suit," Komand'r growls over her own suit's radio.

"And here I'd thought you'd be used to my bullshit by now," I comment absently, working the airlock's controls.

"Throwing around magic and creating living weapons, I can handle. It's when you do stuff like this that really seems to make it obvious."

"Make what obvious?"

"Your rules are not our rules. Walking in hard vacuum just proves it."

"You know, I'm about...call it seventy percent certain you and your sister could do the same with your own abilities," I say with a shrug.

"I...seriously?"

"Sure. Last I checked, your body produces a plasma field around itself when you use your flight, right? It's pretty similar to what Kryptonians and Green Lanterns do to shield themselves from vacuum, so it should give you the same protection. Not saying we should test it out _now_ , but it could be useful."

Komand'r cocks her head. "Now I _know_ I've spent too much time around you. Because that actually sounds intriguing."

"You wound me, my princess."

"Hush, Magus. If I have, it has never stuck."

We grin at each other for a moment.

Then the air starts to vanish, sucked away and stored. Nobody wants to waste atmosphere, after all, and so some storage tanks will take the load and distribute it elsewhere.

It's odd. I'm definitely in a vacuum - the lack of sound tells me that - but otherwise...no reaction from my body. Hmm.

The outer airlock door opens, showing a field of distant stars. Brighter than anything I've seen before...and not just stars. Distant nebulas, grand splashes of color and light...without an atmosphere or the light of a city to get in the way, I can see it all.

"Well?" Komand'r says, voice buzzing in my ear thanks to the small comms device I've put there. Bone conduction or something, not sure on the technological specifics, but it carries crystal-clear sound. "Are you going or what?"

"Ladies first," I say, sweeping my arm forwards. My words are carried to her by the subvocal mic at my throat.

"You just want to get a good look at me," she says, stepping in front of me anyway.

"Hey, blame whoever designed your excursion suit to be nearly skin-tight," I reply smoothly.

"Your species and their little...quirks," she says, a smile in her voice. "Still interesting, to see what sets you off." She takes another step forward, into the void, floating there as _X'halvram's_ internal gravity no longer applies to her. She turns in midair. "Well? Coming, or not?"

"Of course. My rampant paranoia and desire to see everyone safe from magical bullshit demands it," I say, following her out the airlock, which closes behind us.

She cocks her head. "Aren't _you_ the source of magical bullshit? Because if you intend to escape, I might just hunt you down."

"Magical bullshit that _isn't_ mine," I amend.

A thought, and wings push out from my back, turning me despite there being no air in which to do so.

The star of the system we're in is still distant, as _X'halvram_ makes its way towards its destination at sublight speeds. The closest and brightest light is Komand'r's own, but even though purple isn't exactly the best light, it's more than enough to see by.

Ahead of us, the prow of _X'halvram_ stretches on like a grey wall, seemingly without end, filled with armor and weapons.

I take a deep breath of nothing, before reorienting myself to stand on the hull, 'walking' along it. Komand'r, after a moment, does the same.

"So?" she asks. "What are you going to do? Paint something in blood?"

"Oh ye of little faith," I say with a grin. "This is a major working I'm doing here. Blood won't suffice for that...well, _normal_ blood."

"So why am _I_ here? Beyond you wanting to show off."

"Mostly...I'm not sure what this is going to do. Well, I _do_ , but I'm basically going to have to make up the warding as I go, and I'm not sure what my limits are yet. Basically, hit me over the head if I start doing anything too horrifying, because if I am it probably means I need to be pulled out of 'magic mode'."

"Will that actually work?"

"No idea. But honestly, don't have any better ones."

Komand'r facepalms. "Try not to do anything too ridiculous, alright?" she says wearily.

"Oh, no. Only warding a spaceship the size of a large island. Nothing too absurd, no ma'am."

She laughs. "You know what I mean."

"Yup." I settle into a cross-legged position. "Now let's see…"

I close my eyes, trying to calm myself. The memory of the angel still burns in the back of my mind.

It doesn't matter. Not now. Because servant of the Almighty or not, willingness to destroy or not…

"This is mine. This place lives and breathes, it fuels Red and Green and Grey. It gives life to body and mind and soul...and so I shall protect it. This is my word and bond."

Reality... _unfurls_ to my eye, _X'halvram's_ hull vanishing in favor of a cosmos of light that makes the stars and nebulas look like nothing more than grey rags. Thousands upon thousands of points of light, each and every one living, breathing, each one giving light to the miniature world that protects them and houses them.

It's fragile. Gossamer-thin. A small thing, perhaps, in comparison to the grand magics of Earth. But it is _growing_ , flourishing...and that is what matters. It is small, yes, but it _strives_ for greatness.

They live, and in doing so, they serve the Red.

I reach out, grasping it in the palm of my hand. I must be delicate. Too stringent a protection, and I will merely clip their wings. And that would be worse, far worse, than leaving them unprotected.

And yet, the task ahead…

The world looms, the sheer _size_ of the ship and its people, the weight of it almost crushing as I realize what it means to ward it…do I truly have the strength to do this, with the Red so thin…?

It doesn't matter. I do or I don't, and I...I _need_ to try. I need to protect this place, from all that may come to harm it.

I breathe in, finding a well of strength I had never felt before. A tide of red, so deep I could drown in it, surges through me. Where is it…? Was this something the Spear's spiritual scars had kept me from reaching? Was this something I had the whole time, this kind of power? What else have I failed to notice? But this is not the time for questioning.

I breathe out, and the Red surges, building itself up like a thundercloud, the fragile networks of magic barely able to contain its power.

I can feel Komand'r's presence, another point of bright light, stronger than the rest. She has her hands on my shoulders. Grounding me. Wordlessly, I reach up and cover one of her hands with my own.

Breathe in. Out.

I cup my hands around the fragile world, words welling to my lips with ease. I don't know where they're coming from. But they feel _right_ , resonating down to the core of my being. "From the world, a soul. From a soul, life. From a life, knowledge. From knowledge, power. From power...reality. This is truth, embodied through the words YS ATUN VRAMA PRESH. And as those seven syllables are truth, so too are these words: This place shall never fall."

It is a simple thing, as red light illuminates the world in my hands, to shape what I need. A protective hearthfire to warm the world and guide it. A chrysalis, one that will be discarded as the world matures and spreads its wings. It settles into place, a tracery of light, surrounding the delicate webs of life.

I let go, and let reality curl back into place, opening my eye. _X'halvram_ looks the same as before, at least to normal vision. I squeeze Komand'r's hand, rising and turning to look at her. "It's done," I say with a smile.

"Done? But nothing happened. And here I was hoping for some fireworks."

"I don't want to make the King think we're under attack, you know."

"Hmph. Some of the people could use the shock," she says with faux-annoyance, leading me back into the airlock.

"Maybe. But all of them?"

"True enough. They're not _all_ idiots with too much breeding and not enough sense. A lot of them are quite nice. Or at least nice enough if you've got the funds to pay for drinks."

I raise an eyebrow as the door reshuts behind us and air begins to flood the chamber. "You? A drinker?"

"Hey, it helped to take the edge off. I couldn't qualify for the _military_ , even though I was better in hand-to-hand than anyone my age, and it wasn't like I had marriage proposals lined up before you came along. And I wasn't a strategist or a scientist, not one better than Kori or Ry, anyway. So...yeah. A lot of nights that I ended up regretting in the morning. A few people I probably shouldn't have made friends with." She takes off her helmet, shaking free her mane of hair, a look of regret on her face.

"So what changed?" I ask. "You make it sound like you gave it up _before_ the Psions."

"Father," she says quietly. "We argued. We did that a lot, but after one bad night, it was worse than ever. He...he told me that I was better than that. Not something about birth, but that I was a better _person_ than that. That Kori and Ry needed me to be better than that, that my illness didn't define what I was. So I gave it all up. Wasn't easy. Had a lot of bad days for a while. But...it was worth it, you know?"

I link my hand to hers. "I know," I say softly. "And now?"

"Now...now things are better," she replies, pulling me closer and slinging an arm around my waist. "Can't stand the taste of alcohol anymore, but that's a small price to pay. And I decided something. If I couldn't help Kori and Ry with leading or battle...well, there was always the underworld."

"Heh. I like it. Black ops for the black fire."

"Hush, you," she says with a chuckle. "It was more than that. But I will admit, it let me find out the finest places in _X'halvram's_ underbelly. And you need to unwind, Magus."

"I unwind plenty of times," I protest.

"In ways that don't make normal people question your sanity?"

"...okay, you may have a point. I'm working on it."

"Promises, promises. There's a place that makes fresh dizi skewers. Best protein on the ship." She looks me over. "Dress _down_ , and bring Mr. Snuggles with you, will you?"

I stare at her blankly. "First you say making experiments is scary, then you tell me to bring one. Make up your mind, will you?"

She elbows me. "Do I love a fool? You should know why."

"Convince the average people that he, and by extension I, is a harmless teddy bear for all the fact that our mutual appearances are disconcerting?"

"Good man."


	17. Chapter 17

**19:06 TST, 1st Lunar Month, 23rd Day**

 _ **X'halvram,**_ **Ten Forward**

"Okay, you were right, this stuff is delicious," I say, swallowing a savory mouthful.

I leave unsaid the fact that it probably _wouldn't_ be, if not for the fact that I've long since swapped out my taste buds for the Tamaranean equivalent, and taught Greta to do the same. Ditto most of the digestive system. Alarmingly similar to a human one, but some of the receptors and proteins don't line up quite right, and if I hadn't, we'd both have to deal with horrific indigestion at the least.

Mr. Snuggles, at least, requires no spells or shapeshifting. Just a large haunch of meat, which he's been stripping to the bone with gusto.

"I told you," Komand'r says. "Best on the ship. In the Fleet, even."

"Mm-hmm." I lean back in my chair, scanning the room almost instinctively. Komand'r, dressed in dark overalls - cut off at mid-thigh, of course - and a short-sleeved shirt, chuckles.

"You're being quiet."

"Never actually been in a bar before. And definitely not a place like this." I gesture at the room.

The place doesn't look like what I'd expected a bar to look like. Metal dominates most of the room, cheaply painted. The bar itself is a long, dark red counter, that dominates most of the room. Tables and chairs, again, metal, fill most of the floor on one side, and booths, seats clad in battered vinyl, march along another wall to meet with the bar in a corner.

That isn't exactly all that far out of my expectations - though not the mental image I'd had of a bar, which included more mahogany and leather. What _is_ out of my expectations fills almost a third of the bar, and attracts the attention of a good three quarters of the patrons: a series of shallow circular pits, surrounded by taut ropes and filled at the bottom with a thin layer of sand. In each, a pair of Tamaraneans are engaging in hand-to-hand combat, to raucous cheers from those in the benches surrounding said pits.

"What, you don't have fights?" Komand'r asks, lounging next to me in our booth.

"Not in bars, no. There's some tournament fights, different martial arts styles, but it's not as...ubiquitous?" I say with a shrug. "Never seen it out in public like this."

Komand'r's expression turns pensive, before she grins. "I've figured it out."

"Figured what out?"

She pokes me in the ribs. "Your people must bottle up so much energy that they _have_ to let it out through all the craziness you've told me about. If you had fights like us, you'd be normal."

"You live on an island-sized spaceship. I'm not sure you get to lecture me about normality," I shoot back. "And besides, if that were true, we'd have a lot more superheroes and supervillains than we already do."

"Fine, ruin all my fun," she says dramatically, swinging her legs up to rest across mine.

Mr. Snuggles huffs, flicking an ear from his position 'guarding' our booth.

"I have ruined nothing save your illusions," I intone, voice flat.

Komand'r just laughs. "You're still being serious," she says. "Trust me. Unwinding is healthy."

I sigh, leaning back and crossing my arms behind my head. "I know, I know. Just...a lot on my plate. Research for a safe teaching method has stalled out, Argen'tal's pissed because he can't do any experimentation with us separated from the rest of the Fleet, there's whatever the angel did to me that seems to have unlocked a _lot_ of power...and in two days both of us are going to be stepping onto an alien planet with no fucking idea what to expect."

"Well, no matter what it is, worst comes to worst you'll have the power to handle it...speaking of, I've wanted to ask you something. You said...something. It wasn't clear, over the radio, but it's been bothering me."

"The mantra?"

"If that's what you call it. It didn't make any sense, and yet…"

"You felt power there," I finish. She nods, and I smile. "It's not some magic words or anything. Nothing really special about them, save for the fact that I attach meaning to them."

"And yet I felt it. So what kind of meaning was it?"

"I took the phrase from a work of fiction back home. In there, it was a metaphysical phrase, embodying...well, the right to rule creation. Royalty, of the kind of power that they could turn the multiverse on end as an object lesson. Using it as a mantra...well, it felt right, so I did it."

"That's about the entirety of you doing magic, I've discovered."

"You're...not wrong. I think it's because Red magic is instinctual once you sufficiently attune yourself to it. It's the attuning that's the hard part, and that I dealt with long ago."

"Yeah, yeah, you've got magic pouring out of you, I know," Komand'r says teasingly. "Seriously. Let go, and relax."

"Honestly, I can't remember the last time I did that," I say after a moment.

"Oh? Not even with me?"

"Well, we are in public, _dear._ "

She laughs. "Keep your modesty, Magus. You know what I meant."

"You help. A lot," I say bluntly. "It's just...been a while. And I think I have a tendency to go and work instead of dealing with things. When I can't work, though…"

"Ah, I get it." She swings her legs off, and prods my shoulder. "Scoot out, and follow me. I want to show you something."

Bemused, I move out of the booth, and follow her as she walks towards the fighting pits.

It says a lot about the crowd that they barely even notice me or Mr. Snuggles as we follow Komand'r. Maybe they got their fill shortly after we walked in...it wasn't like we were hiding who we were, though Komand'r hadn't given her actual name at any point. Regardless, though they clear some space at the edge and there's a couple sidelong glances at the hulking canine, nobody really reacts.

I watch the fight currently ongoing carefully. Both of them, young men, seem pretty evenly matched, each of them circling the other warily, hands out to grapple. No punches being thrown, at least not at the moment...wrestling matches?

I nod to myself as one of the fighters suddenly rushes forward, and gets thrown in a blur of motion for his troubles. Yup. Wrestling. The victor helps the thrown man up, and both of them climb out of the waist-deep pit, chatting amiably.

While I've been watching, Komand'r's already made her way past the pit. I spy her speaking quietly with a man wearing a blue armband and white trousers...and not much else. Well, at least _some_ of the people here are conforming to the whole 'we don't know what clothing is' fashion that 'good' clothes here consist of. Everyone else, combatants excepted, are mostly wearing clothing that could pass as casual wear on Earth. Granted, during summer, but still...ah, well, at least I fit in pretty well myself without having to change all that much from what I prefer.

Komand'r turns back towards me as the shirtless man walks towards a podium up near the wall. She smiles, and then vaults over the ropes and into the pit.

"Ladies and gentlemen, turn your attention to the center ring," a voice rings out, causing a ripple through the crowd. "We've got an old friend back after a long absence to fight in Ten Forward once again. Put your hands together for the Mistress of the Liquor Fist herself, our very own Queen of the Devil's Court...BLACKFIRE!"

Applause and cheers explode from the crowd as Komand'r raises her hands, grinning. I find myself matching her expression.

This? This is _interesting._

There's a surrussus among the crowd, before a brawny Tamaranean, wearing a bright blue sleeveless gi and knee-length shorts, shoulders his way to the edge of the pit, jumping in with a grin. "I'll take the first round, if none of you have the balls," he says, cracking his knuckles. "Two falls out of three?"

Komand'r nods, and the two fall into their stances. Hers is...odd. I've sparred with her before, and she's always been more...disciplined in her style. Is she trying to draw her opponent in with a lax guard?

If she is, it works like a charm. Really, you'd expect someone to hear the announcement that shirtless guy gave and be a bit more wary, but Blue Gi goes straight into the attack, lunging forwards and trying to grab her in a grapple.

Komand'r...doesn't block, but instead almost _flows_ around the attack, her apparently weak guard suddenly turning into a blur of motion that latches onto the man's gi and hurls him forwards, turning his own momentum against him. The man hits the ropes at the other end of the pit, and whirls around - just in time to receive a perfectly executed roundhouse kick to the face. I wince, and the crowd makes noises of sympathetic pain as the man drops.

That's one.

Komand'r backs off to let the guy recover. He gets to his feet, shaking off the blow. Gotta hand it to Tamaraneans - they're tougher than baseline humans by a _lot._ Not up there at, say, Kryptonian levels, but I'm pretty sure you could match Superboy in a brawl with two or three decent fighters and beat him with four.

The two are circling now, feinting in and out, and I frown. Komand'r's style is something I haven't seen before in _our_ spars. In those, she's all aggression, throwing the most power she can at weak points in a straightforward, ruthless fighting style that tends to crack any defense like glass - including the barriers I put up, under enough bombardment. Here, though, she's moving loosely, unpredictably, letting the opponent come to her and turning their own attacks against them. It's a complete change from anything I've ever seen her do - hell, it doesn't seem to fit with her personality at all, this kind of fighting. And yet…

"An impressive specimen," a voice remarks close to me. I turn, looking the speaker over. He's...bland. Almost incredibly so. Not too tall, not too short, skin a medium orange, hair in a short and utterly average haircut that is a normal dark brown, clothes almost exactly the same as his neighbor's. It's...disconcerting.

I glance over at Mr. Snuggles, who is sitting back on his haunches and panting. A couple of the more adventurous members of the crowd are petting him. "I suppose he is."

"I don't mean the beast," the bland man remarks, smiling down at the pit, where Komand'r has her far larger opponent in a painful-looking joint lock.

"Really, now," I say, narrowing my eye. "You want to say those kinds of things, might be a better idea to say them to her face. In the ring."

"You aren't going to defend her?"

"If I tried, she'd probably finish you off and then kick my ass," I say with a snort. "She takes offense to people fighting her battles for her."

The man frowns, or at least I think he does. He isn't exactly expressive...and he's standing alarmingly still. What is his deal? I look deeper…

I shut off my magical senses, glaring at the man - does that term still apply when you're basically a brain in a jar connected to a robot suit? Because that's what this guy is. "Now, who exactly are you?" I ask politely.

"Nobody of consequence."

"Uh-huh. You going to leave now?" I ask. "Or is making oddly ominous comments a hobby of yours?"

The man bows shallowly, before walking away, leaving me with a decent portion of the crowd watching me warily. I shrug. "Creepy little bastard, wasn't he?"

That's all it takes for those watching to laugh and for everyone to go back to their business.

Komand'r climbs back out of the pit. "So?" she asks.

"Liquor Fist?" I ask, as a reply. "I'm not sure whether to feel insulted or grateful you never used it on me."

She laughs, linking her hand with mine as we walk a bit away from the pit. "It would never work on you. Your stance is all wrong for it."

"Care to test that?"

Her smile turns dangerous. "You know, Legate? I think I shall."

Then she throws me into one of the pits. I land on my feet, grinning. "Got to thank you, dear."

She lands in the pit in front of me, scattering sand. "Oh? Why would that be?"

"Because now that I know you've been holding out on me, I _really_ will get the chance to try something new. And because I've always wanted to say these words in the right context." I set my stance, putting my left hand forward and palm out, my right cocked back in a fist. " _Pree Aesma. Ys-Asram, the Bloodied One. Ys-Prama, Hansa, and Prat Payam, who temper my heart. YISUN Atru Vyam. Forgive me for the violence I am about to inflict."_

I move.

Komand'r meets me halfway.

 **14:11 TST, 1st Lunar Month, 24th Day**

 _ **X'halvram,**_ **King Koland'r Memorial Park**

I think I enjoy Tamaranean parks more than their Earthly equivalent. Mostly because of one particular feature - the high, savannah-like purplish grasses, which conceal where I am sitting and quietly letting my mind explore.

I hadn't meditated much on Earth. Too much to do, too many things that would demand my attention, magic filling my senses and making it difficult to clear my mind.

Here, though, even though _X'halvram_ is large, and its magic is growing stronger by the day...there is peace, relatively speaking, and it's much easier to...step outside, for lack of a better word.

Greta is better at this sort of world-walking than I am, her presence lighter and smaller, finding it easier to wander. I can't do the same thing: I have to...step back, observe, rather than taking a close look. Grand works are easier that way, I suppose, but anything _smaller_ is a problem.

Still, the metaphysical 'distance' doesn't keep me from being able to feel those who are on the hunt for me. Nor does it stop me from being able to dodge easily, a hand snapping out to grab my attacker by the scruff of their neck.

"Hey! Leggo!"

I give the kid - Cara'mon, right? - a dubious glance, before setting him back down. He scrambles to his feet, glaring at me. I laugh.

"Come on, kid, surely Greta's told you enough to know that sneaking up on me isn't going to work."

He kicks a little at the dirt. "...wanted to see if I could do it," he says.

I smile. "It's okay." I glance at the grasses surrounding me. "You guys can come out now, I know you're here."

There's a moment of silence, and then the grasses part as Greta and her friends step out, all of them dressed in casual clothing rather than College robes. Raist'la immediately takes charge of her brother, almost dragging him back to the group. " _Told_ you he wasn't asleep," she says under her breath.

"Nah, just meditating," I say, not moving from my cross-legged position. "It lets me keep track of lots of things. People trying to sneak up on me included."

"How?" Raist'la asks, expression pensive.

"He's probably got some weird human senses or something," Naran says dismissively, the lanky kid looking like he's barely holding himself upright and awake. He grins at Greta. "Still holding out on us, pintsize?"

"You know I'm not," Greta says. "Dad's...dad."

"Dad is right here and possessed of a perfectly functional pair of ears," I remark.

"See?" Greta says, gesturing towards me. The kids laugh.

"Okay, but seriously, how? How is it that just sitting there and breathing evenly lets you see us coming?"

"The breathing is to help you stay in tune with your surroundings and the world," I say. "Why don't you try?"

Truth be told, if she manages it, I'll be extremely surprised. I've seen all of their souls. Stronger than most, which is probably due to spending time around Greta, but...wild, inconstant, flickering flames, not the kind of steady strength needed to meditate with any real success. That kind of warning sign, even more than the almost total lack of _any_ kind of magical tradition in Tamaranean culture beyond some vestigial legends about their ancient gods, has made me start to consider teaching magic - or, at least, magic as _I_ understood it - to the Tamaraneans something impossible.

But Raist'la doesn't know that, and so she drops into a cross-legged position to match mine, closing her eyes. Her frown deepens.

"Want any help?"

"No. I can do this," she growls.

I give Cara'mon a look. The kid glances at his sister, and shakes his head in apparent resignation before going over to the others. They start talking quietly, save for Greta, who walks up to me.

"Hey, Dad, is she going to…"

"Break through?" I finish quietly as I shrug, rising from my seated position. "I very much doubt it. Magic requires focus and attunement to the task...she's got the first, but to such a degree it's interfering with the actual goal of feeling the world _beyond_ herself."

"Oh."

"Why do you ask, little one?"

"Because...when I look at her, there's little flashes…"

"Ah. Well, Greta, you're getting to that age, where you start to develop...feelings, and-"

" _Dad._ "

"Okay, I know, little one. Working on it." I open my senses again...and smile. "Oh, now this is _interesting._ She's right on the edge...I don't think I've ever seen someone unlock their magical potential through sheer stubbornness before. Or even heard about it…" I frown, preparing to slam down a circle. It'd screw with her perception and make her fail, but better that than opening her mind fully.

"Is she going to be alright?" the Sil'ney girl asks suddenly.

I nod. And then stare at her for a moment, before waving a hand in Raist'la's direction, jolting her out of her...not meditation, but whatever it was. She glares at me with all the indignation a twelve-year-old can muster. "Hey! What gives? I almost had it!"

"That's exactly why. I was expecting you to get nowhere, and yet you were about to open your magical senses completely. With no protection whatsoever. I've spent weeks trying to figure out how to avoid precisely that when teaching magic, and I have _no_ intention of letting you get your brain broken because you looked at something you shouldn't have. And now...can everyone get in a circle for a second?"

The kids look nervous, but they do as I ask. Greta gives me a considering look.

"Right. So, here's what was happening, and why I stopped you."

It's a simple thing to make light appear - red, of course. Five orbs of scarlet light form, each one hovering in front of one of the kid's chests. "Alright, so let's say these are your souls. Now, yours -" - I point to Raist'la - "- was about to do _this._ " The orb in front of her drops suddenly, hitting the ground and vanishing into it. "Dropping out of the material world and examining the magical one. That's dangerous, and I was about to stop you before you could break through like that by forming a circle around you. It'd be like sticking a hard surface underneath the orb, and keep you from 'dropping'. With me so far?"

Everyone nods. Greta motions for me to get on with it.

"Right. I had to settle for simply giving you the metaphysical equivalent of a kick in the pants, because of _these._ " Threads of light connect all of the orbs, forming a cat's cradle of light. "I'm not entirely certain what's going on here, but your souls appear linked. Disrupting that sort of connection with a circle...yeah, I'm not going to chance it. And there's a significant chance that if one of you _does_ break through with magical talent, that it'll drag all the others along for the ride."

"So, if one of us gets magic...all of us get magic?" Raist'la asks.

"That sounds pretty awesome," Cara'mon says.

"Or we could get broken brains, like the Magus says," Sara replies.

"Power at a price, right? Troublesome," Naran says with a yawn.

"Dad...what're you going to do?" Greta asks.

I pause. "Alright. I have to leave tomorrow. We're landing on that planet...someone really needs to name it, by the way...but once I get back, I'm going to have to figure out a way to let all of you break through in a controlled fashion. Until then, _don't_ try." I say this last one with a hard glance at Raist'la, who nods. "I can keep you from doing something unsafe. I _can't_ fix shattered minds. Understood?"

"Understood, Magus," comes the chorus from five throats.


	18. Chapter 18

**8:12 TST, 1st Lunar Month, 25th Day**

 **Heavy Ground Assault Shuttle** _ **Marginally Miffed Meteorite**_ **, Passenger Compartment**

I am rapidly growing sick of small spaces.

Okay, the passenger compartment isn't _that_ tiny, by spacefaring military standards- it has enough headroom for everyone else. But I'm somewhere in the neighborhood of seven feet, and so standing is something that is almost certain to end in a concussion the moment the shuttle hits some kind of turbulence. And shapeshifting at this point would really just spook everyone.

Add in the fact that we've been cooped up in here for hours as the shuttle crawls across the distance to reach the planet from where _X'halvram_ had to park well outside the gravity well, and I'm starting to be on edge. As large as it is, _X'halvram_ would break apart in orbit without enormous energy and effort in maintaining internal gravity and structural integrity - energy and effort that needs to be conserved.

And then there's the possibility of everyone else on the shuttle dying to whatever lives on the planet. Paranoia? Maybe, but I prefer to call it being genre-savvy. Again, _X'halvram_ \- and thus any help - is hours away.

" _We'll hit atmosphere in two minutes,"_ the pilot announces. " _Get ready for some shakes."_

The marines on board check the straps of their padded restraints, tightening them as much as possible. Komand'r does the same, while I discreetly reinforce my internal bone structure as I mimic her. Can't be too careful, and I'm not wearing armor like the others; just some red-colored fatigues. I'll change the color to match the environment, whatever it turns out to be, later - for now, though, why not stick to the theme?

Komand'r puts a hand on my thigh. "Relax," her voice whispers in my ear. "We do this all the time. Nothing's gone wrong. Nothing's going to go wrong."

"If it does, you owe me one," I whisper back.

"Oh? And what form would that debt take?" she asks, grinning behind the visor of her helmet.

"I think you'll enjoy it," I say, grinning back. "But more would spoil the surprise."

"And I thought I was the flirty one."

"Hey, I learned from the best."

Then the shuttle _shudders_ , acceleration slamming us down into our seats as the entire craft rattles. I grit my teeth, riding it out. Just as the pressure is about to become unbearable, it begins to drain away, the shuttle stabilizing. Everyone slumps in their seats as much as the restraints will allow.

" _Alright folks, we've got an hour or so until we're close enough to the site to land. There's a lot of jungle here, atmosphere is at a cozy thirty-eight percent oxygen, sixty percent nitrogen, and a mix of random gases, temperature is at a positively wonderful forty degrees Centigrade. Gravity is one-point-eight standard units, nothing too bad. No signs of intelligent or industrialized life, but we're staying subsonic- no need to spook whatever locals might be around. Enjoy the ride."_

I unbuckle myself from my harness, but stay seated, in sharp contrast to the others, who can't seem to get up fast enough.

"Alright, mudhuggers, listen up!" the sergeant in charge of the squad - a woman who proves that the Royal Family isn't the only one that produces women who can kick your ass and look stunning at the same time - shouts, one hand on her sidearm. "Just cause the atmosphere's breathable doesn't mean it isn't going to kill you. Keep your helmets sealed until ordered otherwise. Magus, I'm assuming you won't have a problem?"

I nod.

"Good. Our orders are to fly on over to the site, recon it, and report back. If the site's usable, we dig in and wait for the engineers and their toys to drop in and start digging up material. If not, there's two more to investigate. We're budgeting for hostile wildlife, and with an O2 content that high it's going to be big. So stay sharp, and keep an eye on your six. Everyone comes home today."

"For what it's worth, I can probably tell any wildlife to back off," I say. "And if they aren't of a mind to listen...well, that's why we're armed to the teeth." I pat the suitcase at my feet. "Or the hands, as the case may be," I add, nodding to Komand'r.

"Right," the sergeant says. "Plan's the same regardless of if the Magus's voodoo works or not. We're staying above the treeline, going straight to the site, no stops. Any questions?"

"What happens if we _do_ find locals?" one of the soldiers asks.

"Keep your mouth shut, don't provoke them, and get the hell away if we can. Optical camo if we pick up anything, just to be safe. We might not've signed those bobblehead's treaties, but until we can confirm we're not in their territories, we stick to those rules. Last thing we need is the Corps after us."

Everyone nods at this statement, and I take a moment to start shuffling through some modifications. What I've incorporated into my skin and clothing takes some inspiration from chameleons and squid...and quite a few more from some Tamaranean treetop herbivores. My body ripples briefly, and then turns invisible, before I return it to normal again.

I look over the compartment again. Most of the squad is busying themselves with checking their weapons, but Komand'r and the sergeant are off to one side, clearly talking with each other - but since I can't hear them, probably over a closed channel.

I'm tempted to listen in, but that would be extremely rude. If it's something important, Komand'r will tell me...and if it is something that pisses either of us off, she'll do the same thing.

Komand'r suddenly straightens, giving the sergeant a nod and a salute, before walking back to me, visor opaque.

...okay, incredibly pissed off it is. I haven't seen her that incensed since some high-society prick had decided to say something about the 'scandal of the heir to the throne dallying with a foreign charlatan'. Granted, it had been on what I had gathered was the Tamaranean equivalent of bad cable news... but it had ticked her off quite a bit.

Komand'r sits down next to me, not relaxing an iota. After a moment, I put a hand on her shoulder. She covers it with her own, before sitting back. My earpiece buzzes. "Legate? How well would you rate my combat skills?" she asks quietly.

Ohhhhhkay, I can see where this is going already. I tap my free hand against my thigh, before beginning to subvocalize my answer. "Considering your undefeated streak at Ten Forward, and the fact I wasn't holding back at all and you _still_ trounced me...pretty high end in hand-to-hand, at the very least. Flight, more agile than my wings but less straight-up speed...not sure how you'd stack up against other Tamaraneans, haven't seen you and Koriand'r spar in the air. Plasma bolts pack a punch, more than anything man-portable...and better than a lot of vehicle weapons. But I've never seen you in a real fight...and that's what you're asking, isn't it? Why?"

"Because I've never been in one," she replies bitterly.

"Kind of...expected that. Sergeant wants you out of the way?"

"Like I'm made of glass. And I'm _not._ " Her hand drops from mine, and I take that as a signal to let go.

"I never said you were. Think of it from her point. Unknown planet, and if you somehow get hurt, it'll be her head on the chopping block. She wants you safe."

"All my damn life I've had to put up with this…how am I supposed to prove my worth in combat if I never get to see it?"

"That's how it is," I subvocalize. "But if we do run into trouble...well, I'll let you have first crack at whatever it is."

"My hero," she says drily.

"From both physical and societal harm, yes," I reply with a small smile. "Now, since we have an hour to kill, I'm going to see what sort of magic this place has. I've been keeping my senses clamped down, but if we're going to take this long…"

"I would have expected you to do so immediately…"

"Well, passing out the moment the shuttle hit atmosphere with no explanation seemed like poor taste."

"Fair enough. Do your meditating, Magus."

I nod, closing my eye, and beginning to stretch my senses out to the world below.

It...it's alive.

That sounds silly, but to _know_ this sort of thing, to see it for myself...I can sense every current of life on the planet below, every single solitary animal. Not only insects, like on Earth, but _all_ of them...and, I find, more than simple macroscopic life. Single-celled organisms, I can sense as well, a seething horde of blind, struggling, breathing _life_ that paints the landscape more effectively than radar.

It's easy to luxuriate in, to simply _be_ amongst the pathways of life and magic, to rejoice in finally finding something that can, metaphorically, bear my weight. To walk along the hidden paths of the world, in a way the paucity of magic on _X'halvram_ prevents me from doing. My power _surges_ here, closer at hand than ever, energy simmering under my skin. And I love it, love the world that is unfurling in a riot of color before my eyes. How could I not? It is a vast array of predators, prey, and parasites, striving and surviving, stronger than anything on _X'halvram_ or the ecological ships...and yet…

There is something off. Something I cannot yet put my finger on. A...disruption. No, that's not the right term. Disruption implies something _wrong_ , alien, and yet the Red here has woven the oddity into itself like a jungle overtaking ruins. But it's still present, a _shift_ in the web, something that differs from the rest…

"Legate? We're going."

I blink, then shake my head, dispelling the trance and pulling myself back into my body. The oddity...wasn't hostile, wasn't harmful to the environment or to us. A mystery, but one that can wait for the moment. I'll have time to contemplate later. For now, though…

I stand, hunching to avoid banging my head on the roof. The other marines have already shuffled to the back of the craft, waiting silently.

The rear ramp of the shuttle unseals with a hiss, then drops, letting baking-hot, humid air rush in at the same moment the Tamaraneans rush _out._ Eleven armored soldiers hurl themselves out into the open air, optical camouflage activating in an instant. Only my eyeglass allows me to know where they are, painting outlines of their bodies in the air. A second later, Komand'r follows, and I follow her, willing wings into existence as I fall. They catch the air instantly, sending me swooping above the Tamaranean formation. I activate my own form of camouflage, gliding on the thermals as I scan the area below.

Most of it's jungle, the trees purple-leaved for some inexplicable reason. It's almost impossible to see lower, the treetop canopies obscuring everything, but along our route of travel, a shining silvery ribbon of a river cuts through the forest. I focus a little, and my vision improves enough to make out the shapes of animals far below. These creatures, drinking from the river, look almost like oxen...if oxen were hexapedal, and covered in dark purple rhino-like hide. Looks like a fairly decent herd, too...I can see calves, and there's many more of the animals further up the river.

As I watch, an immense, quasi-crocodilian shape suddenly explodes out of the water, scattering the herd as its jaws close around one of the rhino-oxen's legs, yanking it back into the river.

"Okay," the sergeant says, in a fairly subdued tone. "Everyone, don't go near the river."

"Roger." "Yup." "Uh-huh."

"Our site should be in visual range, thirty-five kilometers down the river, call it about a hundred meters to the left of the river's edge. Radar isn't picking up anything except trees, trees, and more trees. Anyone got eyes on a landmark?"

"Thermal's got nothing," one of the marines reports.

"Ditto on EMI," another adds. "Looks like we're going to have to poke around with the ground-readers, aren't we?"

"Magus, you have anything in your bag of tricks?" the sergeant asks.

"For sensing whatever warpy crystals or whatever we're supposed to be digging up? I'm not a physicist or a mechanized shapeshifter, so I've got nothing. Put us over the site, maybe I can rig up a tracking spell of some kind, but I make no promises."

"Fair enough. You need anything for that?"

"Unless you've got a sample of the stuff on your person, there isn't anything that'll help."

"If I had _that_ , I doubt we'd be out here, Magus."

"Heh, fair enough."

After a few more minutes of flight, the sergeant's outline comes to a halt as she reasserts a vertical position, the rest of the squad - and Komand'r - doing the same behind her. I can't brake quite as effectively, but I manage to ditch my momentum soon enough.

"Alright. Veers, Kai'ten, you're on top cover for the first shift. We'll rotate every four hours. Everyone else, we're going mudhugging."

There's a chorus of groans at this.

"Shut it! This canopy makes it nearly impossible to make out where the site is, we need to get eyes on the ground. Move out, Marines. Magus, take point."

I nod, and then fold my wings, falling towards the ground at a rapidly increasing clip. Just before impact, I snap them out, and they bleed my momentum away instantly in a way normal wings would never achieve. Benefits of building the shapeshifting that makes them around the _concept_ of flight rather than the mechanics. They're capable of working normally, much like Thanagarian wings, but the magic is what makes me able to outpace Tamaraneans from a standing start.

The others touch down behind me, a little more sedately, dropping their camouflage as they do so.

The trees tower around us here, a thick carpet of moss, fallen leaves, and underbrush obscuring the ground in a riot of purples - and, surprisingly, greens, the first signs of normal-looking plant life I've seen in a while. Granted, normal is relative, and the greenery is probably by that metric _not_ normal, but the ginkgo-like leaves of the underbrush are still a welcome sight.

Distant hooting calls and raucous screeches echo through the suffocatingly humid air as I begin to walk forward, scanning the environment. There's something...off, about the jungle ahead. An odd sense of deja vu, or something like it, like I've…

"Sergeant? How much further ahead is this site supposed to be?" I ask.

"Not far. Hundred meters or so."

"Hmm. Picking up anything on sensors?"

"Nothing. Just more trees."

I bend down, picking up a chunk of bark. "Right...okay, let's see what this does." I hurl the chunk of bark forwards, aiming it right in between the close-packed trees.

Right after it's flown about a hundred meters, it vanishes in midair. I chuckle. "Just like I figured. That's a pretty good cloaking field. Can't fool starship-grade sensors looking for Cherenkov's bastard cousin, but it works on your rigs well enough. And it's not technological, either, or not entirely - I only picked up on it because it's prodding at magic." I grin. "Okay, I have an idea."

"Who the hell is Cherenkov?" Komand'r mutters as I take a step forward, extending my senses back out and finding, just as I'd suspected, a blank wall of nothingness. Maybe this is the oddity? It's not drawing on the Red, but it looks big enough to confuse the ecosystem. Animals wandering through it would probably get lost...

Fuck it. It's in the way, and it's going down.

Power thrums through me as I call on it, that magic inherent to blood and bone. I clench my fist, and a maw descends, jaws closing from above and below, shattering the illusion like glass.

In the 'real' world, the forest vanishes, replaced by a grassy clearing and an outcropping of grey rock in the dead center. At the edge of the clearing, small pillars of crystal lay broken, bluish light fading from them. I gesture toward it. "Shall we?"

The marines exchange glances, then follow. Komand'r just shakes her head before falling into step beside me. "You're just full of drama, aren't you?"

"Raw power and style's all you need, and in a pinch, style can get you through," I say with a grin, stopping at the edge of the clearing and crouching down next to one of the pillars. With the glow fading, the crystal's an odd silvery color. The base of the pillar, though, is metallic, and fixed into the ground, untouched by corrosion. I gather up some of the shards, putting them in a sealed bag for later. Might be interesting.

Then I pause, before standing quickly. "Komand'r?"

"Yes?"

"Listen."

She cocks her head, before starting to walk towards the others. "I don't hear anything. And since there were plenty of birds…"

"Something's keeping them quiet," I finish.

"Right." She pauses, giving the sergeant a look. "Sergeant?"

"I hear you," the woman says gruffly. "Lock and load, everyone! We're going to get company!"

The sound of Tamaranean weapons arming is drowned out by an enraged roar, as an immense creature, like an amalgamation of a bear and a crocodile, bursts through the tree line, snapping its jaws - and then collapses to the earth with a thud that shakes the jungle around us.

"What the hell?" one of the soldiers mutters.

I walk over to the creature - no, it's not breathing, this thing is ex-living, only a corpse now - before placing a hand on its head - the jaws of which are large enough to swallow me whole. What's inside here…? Ah.

"Dead," I say, before moving to the creature's torso, getting my hands under it, and _heaving_ , throwing power into my muscles. The creature rolls onto its side, revealing a straight white pole shoved into its side, between the ribs. "Looks like a bone spear, tipped with some kind of neurotoxin," I say. "And that...either something on this planet has detachable horns, or…"

"Natives," the sergeant finishes.

"And close." I add, dusting my hands off. I reach out, and feel a dozen presences moving through the trees, before smiling. "Headed here right now, actually," I say.

"Everyone, camo, now!" the sergeant barks, before vanishing herself. I do the same, falling back to the rock outcropping with the others.

There's a rustle from the treetops moments later, before a spindly shape drops to the ground.

The creature resembles an insectile centaur, four double-jointed legs supporting a chitinous body and a slender, amethyst-plated torso. Yellow eyes gleam slightly over a quartet of mandibles, and a quartet three-fingered hands grip a large bone spear, more slung over its back. It scans the area, before using a warbling call that is answered from at least three other directions. More of the creatures fall down to earth, some of them beginning to butcher the carcass of the bear-crocodile, others looking around warily. Most of them carry spears, but two are armed with...crossbows? Or that's what I think they are. Can't quite tell.

There's a chorus of clicking and buzzing sounds exchanged amongst the natives as they work.

And then another creature, this one larger, joins them. This one's chitin is edged in gold, its head larger and upper body stronger-looking. It scans the area as well, before spreading its mandibles wide. A voice echoes in my head.

 _+We know you are there, strange minds. Leave our temple be.+_

Fuck.


	19. Chapter 19

**Three hands past dawn**

 **The Wild Woods**

There had been a new star in the sky last night. One that moved, albeit slowly, and one that hung almost directly over Home.

The Priests were certain it was a sign. Of what, there was some disagreement, frission flickering across the hive in fits and starts as a full hand of their factions squabbled: the Augures prophecied doom; the Broodkeepers saw a promise of fertile bounty; the Chaplains proclaimed it a mark of wrath; The Goddess-seekers saw a Calling. The People were restless; it was different, unknown.

It had mattered little to Vem'ek at the time. He was a hunt-leader, not some blue-chitined philosopher. The priests would work their prayers and their spells, and determine the truth, and deliver it to the commanders...who then would broadcast their decision to the rest of the hive as needed. _Then_ it would become the problem of Vem'ek and his fellow hunt-leaders...and a great deal of others depending on the nature of that truth.

There were rumblings that the Promised Days were coming, the times of Starfall and calamity.

Nonsense, for the Slumbering Goddess still slept, and did not stir, but nonsense many of the People were all too willing to worry about.

Vem'ek snorted stale air out of his secondary lungs, busying himself with inspecting the drones under his command. While intelligent enough to follow basic commands and care for themselves and their weapons, the least capable and yet most numerous members of the People were not as discriminating about proper appearance- or, if he was being honest, much beyond fulfilling whatever commands were given- and it was a point of honor (and no small amount of competitiveness) to have a hunt-leader ensure those under his will were impeccably turned out.

Vem'ek had had these drones for many hands of months, though, and so even their dull half-minds had grasped the concept of presentation. There was not so much as a scale out of place - their spears were sharp, their equipment ready. The two who carried crossbows instead of spears were equally impeccable.

Vem'ek nodded to himself, and stretched out his mind, taking command of the dozen drones with the ease of slipping on a broken-in glove. The drones straightened as his will - a meagre gift in comparison to more senior leaders, but more than enough - suffused them, their minds augmenting his in a pale imitation of the greater hive.

Vem'ek brought thirteen hands of hands to bear, and began to scale the trees at the edge of Home, his many bodies jumping from trunk to trunk with ease. The forest blurred beneath them as they moved with ease through the canopy. One body paused for a moment, eyes taking in Home for a moment. The neat rows of thatch-roofed huts deceived the eye, every time: almost the entirety of Home was beneath the surface, far more easily defended. The central temple, ring upon ring of stone, drew the eye as always. The structure had been raised by the People many hands of years ago, in imitation of the true temples and sacred spaces, so that the true temples would not be crowded and forgotten amidst the countless tunnels of Home. It served as a space for communal worship and gathering, for all the members of the People, from drone to king.

Vem'ek told the body to follow the others once more, his desire satisfied.

The People were most at home in the trees, their legs far stronger than even their primary arms, well able to send each of them leaping from trunk to trunk with ease. Vem'ek - and the drones connected to him - revelled in the freedom they felt, practically flying through the air.

Vem'ek was in mid-air when it happened.

A hammer-blow of raw power ripped through the air, stabbing into Vem'ek's mind and many bodies like a hurricane of glass. Vem'ek flailed, slamming into the broad trunk of the next tree with an impact he barely felt next to the immense pain in his skull. His legs stabbed into the bark, anchoring him.

The power faded, the echoes still rippling through the hive as the alarm of those with any degree of psychic sensitivity made itself felt.

What the hell had that been? Vem'ek sagged against the tree, trying to clear his mind of the visions of blood and bone and gnashing teeth that had flooded it in that instant. With a start, he realized that he could still feel it. His psychic senses were crude things and short-ranged in comparison to those above him, but this presence was so great he could feel it even at a great distance. He may have been half-blind, but even a half-blind member of the People could tell where the sun was.

How had they not sensed this before? Its mere approach should have been -

Just as quickly, the presence shrank and dwindled, its fires compressing themselves down into something Vem'ek's limited senses could not perceive.

Oh.

That was how.

A second presence pressed against Vem'ek's mind, far vaster and more wide-spread than the first, less an inferno and more an ocean. This one, though, was familiar, and comforting.

The collective mind of the People, channeled through the focus of the kings. The hive.

It did not speak as Vem'ek might speak to one of the People - it was far too vast, too diffuse, to do that.

 _Investigate,_ it ordered simply.

Vem'ek obeyed, and willed his bodies into motion, sending them through the trees again. This time, though, there was no sense of freedom, just urgency and fear.

It was many hands of leagues to where he had sensed the presence...and close, far too close, to one of the true temples. Whatever the intentions of whoever or _what_ ever had such a presence...it was far too close to sacred ground for comfort.

Part of Vem'ek wondered. There were portents and prophecies…

Useless to consider, until they knew of the nature of the threat.

The leagues passed in a blur of motion, until the farthest of Vem'ek's bodies stood at the edge of the eternal clearing that had, it was said, resisted the rise of the forests since the first of the People had been born, ever so long ago.

It was easy to tell what was wrong. The temples were supposed to be shrouded by great magics, made long ago, and it was well-known that only the fully inititated of the priests could lead others past the illusions and to the true temples. But the temple clearing stood clearly visible from a distance, the illusions gone.

The drone's eyes picked out the figures on the grounds of the temple, and Vem'ek's many bodies stilled as he considered them. They were strange, only upright on two legs - how did they manage to stay balanced? - and most of them were armored in ugly grey chitin, that did not blend into the forest well at all, unlike the People's own purplish shades.

Most of them. Two were different. The first glowed, her chitin underscored by a soft fluorescent light, and the second…

The moment Vem'ek saw him, he knew the tall creature was the source of that presence. The air around it seemed to invisibly seethe to his senses, the ether vibrating with the potential power waiting to be unleashed. It was harder to pick out now than the inferno from before, even relatively close, but the banked embers of its power were obvious enough, and Vem'ek knew it would take very little to set the fires burning again. And its unarmored, soft form was a deep, crimson red. The same shade that the oldest and most savage of the People's war-drones grew to be in their prime.

This...was dangerous. Not just _whatever_ the red creature was, but all of them. Intruders on sacred ground...but did they know it sacred? What was their purpose here?

And, more important...how to ascertain it without causing death and destruction? Confronting them...he eyed what were clearly weapons in the hands of the drabest of the intruders.

Direct confrontation, without knowledge, was perilous.

Below, a _ko'teg_ worked its way through the undergrowth, the heavily built predator scenting the air.

Well. The Goddess provided, it seemed.

Vem'ek ordered one of his bodies to cast its spear from above. The weapon hit the _ko'teg_ in the flank, gravity driving it in deep, and the creature bellowed in panic, running forwards as it sought to escape. Vem'ek let it run, and his bodies followed, moving to catch up with the first of the drones.

The reaction from the strangers was rapid. The drabbest of them - probably some form of war-drone - raised their weapons and prepared for a fight. Under the drone's watchful eye, the creature burst into the clearing before collapsing as the neurotoxin on the spears took hold...and the strangers paused, before the red one strode forward, and began examining the fallen _ko'teg._

The red one looked up, single eye blazing with fell light, and Vem'ek's main body froze on its branch as the ether _boiled._

It was not like fire, he thought numbly. No, it was as if he was some small burrowing animal, peering in fear as the eye of some massive predator blotted out the outside world and stared down at him from his burrow's entrance. All he could do was watch, and hope that the creature would leave him be.

The creature...retreated, joining the others huddling against the temple walls and changing its color to the same sort of shade, a clear attempt at camouflage - even if it was largely pointless, as the blurry outlines of their heat were still visible. Even its... _presence_ did the same, curling in on itself in a futile attempt to hide.

Vem'ek would have laughed if he wasn't afraid of the red one hearing it somehow and taking offense.

Regardless...they were trying to hide, as if they had something to fear. A more confident group, or one that was planning on butchery, would have stood their ground.

Well. Nothing ventured, nothing gained, and if he was wrong, his soul would go to the Goddess' realm anyway.

Vem'ek ordered his drones to attend to the butchering of the _ko'teg_ carcass, first. They fell from the trees rapidly...and the strangers stayed frozen and still, barely breathing.

Right.

Vem'ek launched himself from his branch, his legs absorbing the impact easily, and he reached out to speak with them, mind to mind. Theirs were...odd. Not connected, each a diffuse thing separated from the rest. How did they function, without knowing what their fellows needed from them?

+We know you are there, strange minds. Leave our temple be.+

The strangers turned to look at one another, engaging in some form of silent communication - not telepathy, but something else that Vem'ek could not understand. The red one's presence continued trying to hide like a _ko'teg_ attempting to conceal itself behind a sapling. Vem'ek was more than willing to let it.

After a few moments, the stranger's attempts at camouflage vanished, leaving them clear to sight again. One of their drones stepped forwards, hands raised.

+Right, so I just...think at you, I suppose?+ it asked.

+Of course,+ Vem'ek replied.

+Very well. We did not mean to intrude on your...temple. We are...explorers, from far away, and we hoped this place contained something we need to continue our travels. If it is sacred to you, we do not wish to harm it...there are other places we can go.+

The hive _shook_ as that statement filtered from Vem'ek to the rest of the People, sudden chaos spiking through them all at once.

 _Cease,_ the kings said. _Listen._

The People stilled.

 _Bring them,_ the hive ordered.

Vem'ek nodded. +Follow,+ he said to the strangers. +There are others you must speak to.+

+I...the laws of our people may not allow it.+ There was a flicker of images in the speaker's mind, enough for Vem'ek to get an idea as to what they meant...and enough for him to start putting the pieces together, even as the aftershocks of his deductions set the hive stirring again.

+You came from the falling star, did you not?+ Vem'ek asked. +There are tales of what we must do, when such a day comes. Your people's laws do not matter. So we shall bring you...all of you, drone and red king and royalty alike.+

There was a sense of shock from the strangers, before the drone nodded. +I...understand. How did you know?+

+When a star appears, that is strange. When a new power that can be felt many hands of leagues away appears, stranger still. When that power is in those with strange forms and stranger minds...this is something that all the People must see in person and know.+


	20. Chapter 20

I've noticed that this site doesn't allow colored text. Which is a pity, because this fic relies on it a lot in Legate's PoVs.

* * *

 **No idea of local time, do they even have clocks**

 **Some big fuck-off forest**

+Red one, would you do me the courtesy of linking the minds of your companions together? It is... difficult, to stretch myself between so many full-fledged minds.+

I blink at Gold-Bug's request as we trudge through the undergrowth. _One moment, if you please_.

+Certainly.+

I key my comms. "Our guide wants our minds linked so we can converse like normal people. Anyone got any objections if I try something?"

"Is it at all dangerous?" our Sergeant asks.

"I've got some experience with telepathy...so no."

"...do it."

I let out a breath, sending gossamer strands of red to link our party together. Not enough to fully merge minds, but enough to carry thoughts- ones which are easily conveyed through speech anyway, but the extra shades of intent will help nonetheless. A moment later, I feel a foreign mind tap into the network - Gold-Bug, no doubt. I keep an eye on him, but he merely sits and watches...hmph.

Well, that's one I know the location of. Our native 'guides' blend far too well into the terrain for my liking. Not just in the visual spectrum - which they also match all too well, being the same shade of purple as most of the plant life - but on most of the frequencies my lens can see in as well. It's...disconcerting.

I'm fairly sure my more esoteric methods would winkle the rest them out in a heartbeat, but after the little speech Gold-Bug gave...well, no need to light a bigger beacon for anything else after _that_ , I've already drawn enough attention.

If something comes up, that'll change in a _heartbeat_ _,_ but no need to rock the boat at the moment…

+I am curious, red one.+

Oh, great, Gold-Bug's back.

+How did you obtain such power?+

"I take my vitamins," I mutter, pushing through the undergrowth at the head of the column.

+Unlikely.+

"Fine. I bargained with some very powerful entities. They needed someone to serve as a champion, I needed power, we both had the same goal of letting our world thrive. Worked out pretty well, until I got stabbed in the face by a god-killing artifact, lost my eye, and had to flee with my daughter through a subdimension. That brings us to here."

+...I have the distinct impression you are skipping many steps in that story. And being deliberately vague.+

"Of course I am. I just met you, do you honestly think I'm handing over secrets and personal information?"

+... +

"Magus, sir, please don't annoy the natives," Sergeant...a quick check on the ARL…Vaz'ke says.

"Don't call me sir, I work for a living," I reply, half on autopilot.

Komand'r facepalms. "Please excuse my... _consort._ He rarely watches his tongue."

"No offense taken, your Highness," the Sergeant says, a touch warily.

+Ah, so she _is_ royalty. I could not tell, her scent is closed to me. Do you allow your lessers to speak for you? Some kings and commanders delegate a drone for the task. But it would seem wasteful for you, your lessers are fully formed...and you cannot link to one another as easily, it seems. What is the red one's purpose?+

"You have a purpose?" Komand'r asks with a grin.

"News to me," I reply. "I mostly just potter around and do science."

+...I see. You are very strange, red one.+

"Maybe _that's_ his purpose," Vaz'ke mutters.

"It fits, I'll admit."

"To answer your question, Vem'ek, Sergeant Vaz'ke is the commanding officer here. Legate and I hold higher ranks in other areas, but she is the one giving military orders that we should follow. She speaks for all of us," Komand'r says.

+A division of commands? Intriguing. The People cannot have such a system, but if you do not have a hive...I think many will wish to speak with all of you, to know more of your kind.+

There's...something there, deeper, but I don't want to press, and I lack the kind of delicacy to look at his mind without him knowing I am, which would render it all pointless.

I guess that means diplomacy. Great.

I _pray_ Komand'r got some training in this. I mean, she almost certainly did, but with something like this at stake…

Eh, to hell with it. If they turn hostile I can get everyone back safely.

"Magus, drop the three of us from the link, please," Vaz'ke says quietly.

I nod, and do as she asks, pulling away the gossamer threads binding myself, Komand'r, and Vaz'ke together. Almost instantly, the comm in my ear buzzes.

"Your Highness, I think it's best if you take charge from now on," Vaz'ke says bluntly. "I'm out of my depth, here, and you're the only one with diplomatic experience."

I see Komand'r nod out of the corner of my eye. "Has anyone tried to contact our shuttle? Or _X'halvram?_ "

"Tried. Even Al'ross's rig can't breach the canopy. And with our...hosts, I don't want to send anyone away. Or take a chance on the native wildlife."

"Right. Legate, you can handle anything?"

I nod.

"Link us back up."

"Done."

"Alright, everyone, five minute break. Legate's going to breach the canopy and try to contact everyone else."

"Don't go anywhere," I say with a smile, before summoning wings and leaping upwards, clawing for altitude at impossible speeds. A red shield forms around me as I force my way through the purplish leaves and branches, bursting out into the sunlight-

 _WHAM._

What the hell just- oh, for fuck's sake. Was he trying to find us? Congrats, asshole, you succeeded in making me do a bug-on-a-windshield impression.

Despite the wind shear trying to push me flat, I manage to raise my head from the transparent surface of our shuttle's cockpit enough to glare at our pilot with as much venom as I can muster. The Tamaranean turns an odd shade of beige.

I key my comm. "Open the hatch," I say, as evenly as possible. "And stop, our people are directly below us."

The pilot stops, and I separate from the cockpit - _fucking_ inertia - before my wings catch me.

Alright.

I fly over to one of the escape hatches above the cockpit, which the pilot has already opened, and clamber in. "Canopy blocks transmissions," I say shortly. "Not sure what the hell the trees are made of to do that, but that's how it is. You in contact with _X'halvram?_ "

The pilot nods, still that odd beige shade. I have to wonder if it's the shock of running me over or the fear that I'll do something unwise to him.

"Alright, here's the short of it…"

 **Still got no idea of local time but it's a half hour later**

 **Still the giant fuck-off forest**

"Well?" Komand'r asks as I touch down.

"Next time, you get to play messenger," I say with an aggrieved sigh.

"That bad?"

"Your brother is obviously trying very hard not to panic. Orders are to make contact and come to an agreement _pronto_ , and to get our hands on what we need without having to do anything, and I quote 'that will bring the green hammer down on us'."

+I do not know what this 'green hammer' is.+

Annnnnd forgot about the link.

"There's organizations that are meant to keep people like ours from interfering too much with civilizations that aren't as...mechanically advanced," Komand'r says carefully. "We would not be speaking right now, if not for the fact you detected our presence and therefore rendered the matter moot."

+... _that_ is why you attempted to hide.+

"Attempted?" I ask.

+Yes. Apologies, red one, but you are very noticeable on the plane of souls.+ Vem'ek melts out of the undergrowth, ducking his head in a motion that seems almost ashamed.

"Yeah, I can buy that. Subtle isn't my style," I admit.

" _That_ is an understatement," Komand'r grumbles softly.

+Regardless...we should keep moving. We are almost to Home.+

"Lead on," Komand'r says with an amount of grace I've never seen her use before.

Vem'ek nods, and we move on through the undergrowth.

True to his word, it's only a few more minutes before the undergrowth begins to fade away, replaced by grass. Grass, and…

"This is not what I expected," I say, gazing across the shallow valley spreading out in front of us and the neat rows of...I don't think they're buildings, because that implies they were constructed, and these things look more _grown,_ neat little huts of red-stained wood. Each and every one of them is slightly different from their neighbors, but they still are laid out with near-military precision, wide spaces between each hut.

Why?

Because of the absolutely _mindboggling_ numbers of creatures swarming over the place. Most are the purple-shelled creatures that make up the majority of our impromptu escort, directed by red- and gold-fringed variants in little knots of activity, whether it's manual labor, what looks to be hunting parties, or weapons drill.

And they are far from the only types of creatures here. Massive six-legged elephantine beasts haul blocks of stone or tree trunks, spritely dragonfly-esque ones dart through the air on unknown missions, and at the intersection of two lanes...

It doesn't look all that much different from the other commanders. The same shape of the head and body, the same four legs and four arms...but its shell glows in the ultraviolet spectrum, and in magical terms...it _thrums_ with an energy I can't quite name. Not something of the Red, not demonic or angelic or mundane...but _powerful_ all the same. As I watch, the creature turns, a quartet of eyes staring at me. I grin back nervously.

 **+Vem'ek,+** a new voice thunders, as the obviously magical insect walks towards our group, the other creatures parting around it instinctively. **+You have done well.+**

Vem'ek lowers his upper half to the ground in what looks halfway between a stretch and a genuflection. +Thank you, Deacon.+

 **+You and your drones shall serve as a guard to the newcomers. And as for those newcomers…+**

The 'Deacon's' gaze sweeps across our party, and I feel a slight, probing pressure on my personal wards.

Ha! And I'd been worried it'd be paranoid to erect defenses in a civilization lacking in magic to attack me with!

I grin as my wards block the probe, and then let my eye flare red as I crush it. The Deacon doesn't even flinch.

 **+...there is a great deal we must speak on. These are strange and tumultuous days, that such people have come unto us. It would be...reassuring, young queen, if we could know your scent.+**

"We have not been introduced, I think," Komand'r says slowly.

 **+But we have. What one knows, all know, for that is the great gift given to the People by the Goddess and her ancient kin.+**

Komand'r cocks her head slightly. "Legate?"

I give the Deacon a nod. "You going to panic if I do something?"

 **+No. We know it is you, and that you mean no harm.+**

"Useful." I let a bit of power burn over my hands as I snap my fingers - but the real work is invisible, layered wards to preserve her health and keep her safe from threat manifesting around her, fueled by my connection to the Red here. Just in case, I extend the same protections to everyone else...and, after a moment's consideration, give Vem'ek a bit of a boost as well.

"It's safe," I say, when I'm done. Komand'r gives me a grateful nod before removing her helmet. She shakes out her hair, sending it spilling across her armor's shoulders, before tucking the helmet under one arm and bowing. "I am Princess Komand'r of the Tamaranean Migrant Fleet," she says steadily.

 **+I am a Deacon of the People, guide for their souls and for the future.+** The creature's comparatively narrow chest puffs up as it sucks in a breath, and it straightens suddenly. **+You must come with me. The kings will wish to speak with you.+**

"Where will we go, then?"

 **+To the temple. Where else?+**

The Deacon turns, and the crowds in front of it part again...allowing me, for the first time, a glimpse of the center of the city.

That _has_ to be the temple. It's the only stone building in the entire city, and an utter behemoth of one. Even if that simple description doesn't quite do it justice…honestly, the thing looks like what would happen if Notre Dame and Stonehenge had a baby and then fed it a strict diet of protein and steroids until it hit drinking age.

The creatures around us still as we walk past them, only returning to motion when we're well past. The countless eyes almost have a physical weight to them…

Before I know it, our group's at the base of the temple, a long series of oddly smooth stone steps leading up to the first wall of stone slabs.

I barely keep myself from bristling as we slowly ascend, the eyes on my back nearly unbearable.

Calm. Calm. We aren't under attack...yet.

The first archway opens up to a grassy hill and a solid wall of grey stone. The Deacon takes a right, following the curve of the wall, and we follow. Another archway, deeper in, and a left turn this time. Vem'ek and his drones have already fallen behind us.

The sunlight seems to dim, already faint from having to penetrate the canopy and now cut off by the steadily rising stone...are we going downward? I feel, more than see, the rest of the squad tense behind me, weapons rising higher the more we walk, little by little.

It feels like dusk, shadows dulling everything, by the time we at last come to a set of proper doors, a massive pair of red-wood monstrosities half-covered in decorations carved in bone.

The doors begin to creep outwards with almost comically ominous creaks, and I tense. Komand'r puts a hand on my back.

"Relax. If they were hostile, we would have been attacked already," she says in a soft undertone.

I nod, and take my thumb off the trigger in my briefcase's handle, a gesture that is mirrored by the other members of the squad.

The doors part just enough to allow me to see inside, and I blink as sunlight suddenly glows through the gap, just as strong as it is above the canopy.

+This is where we leave you,+ the Deacon says, visibly basking in the light. +The kings are within.+

I stretch out my senses. Seven centers of power, greater than the Deacon by far, lay at rest in the hall in front of us. More, I can't see yet - the doors are still too closed to get a good view of the hall. Still...

Nothing ventured, nothing gained.

Komand'r seems to think the same, because she bows to the Deacon, and strides through the small opening in the doors and into the hall. I follow, barely a step behind, and the soldiers follow in my wake.

Despite my wariness, I can't help but look up as we enter. The reason for the sunlight is obvious, here: the entire ceiling is nothing more than a series of massive, faceted crystals, all arranged perfectly to focus the sunlight into grand intensity. And while the center of the hall is filled with pure sunlight, off to the sides, colored crystals refract and bend it into countless rainbows of color, scattering temporary works of art across the walls. It's so unlike what I was expecting that I don't even notice the kings, until one of them speaks.

+An uncrowned queen, and a prince of the living. What is it that you require?+

Seven of them, arrayed in a semi-circle, half-cloaked in shadow where the light from the crystals doesn't reach. What glimpses I catch - of mandibles the length of my arm, of a segmented centipede-like body, of enormous faceted eyes - are more than enough to be disconcerting.

"Kings, you know who we are and why we have come," Komand'r says. "You know my mind, do you not?"

+As you allow us to, nothing more. And now you do...it is as was told. You seek to find your wings again...and yet, the only places where such things are to be found are among the true temples, this we know. Sacred ground, which you would not lightly trespass.+

"And you will not allow us to enter, to find what we desperately need?" Komand'r asks.

+That is not what was told. You and your people...much was speculated about this day, much foretold. There is but one more test to be made…+

I gasp as pain rips through my chest, dropping to one knee.

"Legate!"

Komand'r's there in an instant, a steady hand on my shoulder as blood spatters on the stone floor and my heart fails to beat. What is this, what is happening?

+A sign of things to come, that we had feared, is what this-+

Half on instinct, I reach out, grasping for the connection to Greta - if this is an attack, she must be protected - and finding…

Nothing.

A gaping void and a wound.

As though a piece of me had been torn away.

+-must awaken the Slumbering-+

"-hell did you do? Did you-"

+No part in this, this is not ours, but it was-+

"Legate, stay with m-"

"Greta."

Whatever tore her from me, I will find.

And I will make it suffer.

The connection is gone, but the trail is clear to my eyes.

Deep, deep it goes, past reality and magic and into myths and dreamings.

I'm not sure what I do next - half on instinct, half on hope, and an extra half of bloody symbology, as my blood rises from the steps and reality tears around me.

I will find my daughter.

I will bring her back.

I swear on my power.


End file.
